Blood
by Fool's Gold -Pyrite
Summary: Blood will out, or so the saying goes. For the bloodlines of Kim, Futaba and Howard, it is up to them to prove it... or reject it utterly. And by the strength of their choices shall Second Southtown rise or fall. Epilogue up.
1. PR: Severance

Blood

Prologue: Severance

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

It was two in the afternoon when the bombshell struck.

* * *

Rock Howard padded down the hallway silently, propelling himself towards his office through sheer willpower. His demeanour betrayed nothing, not even the faintest suggestion that anything was out of the ordinary. To all appearances, he was just a young entrepreneur – a little too young for the profession, some would say – making his way through the treacherous world of business.

Of course, none knew just how treacherous his real business was, or just how close he kept his demons to his heart. Certainly not his secretary, who greeted him with her usual familiarity.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Howard," she said, as he walked past her desk.

"Just call me Rock. It's easier that way." The corners of his mouth dipped downwards – an expression that went unnoticed by the matronly woman – and he asked, "Is there anything on my schedule today?"

"No, sir. You have no appointments. However, a delivery arrived for you this morning, marked 'Confidential'." Her eyebrows arched as she continued, "There wasn't any return address listed, but Security scanned it and found nothing. It's just paperwork. Would you like me to handle it?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Yardsley, but I'll look through it later. I'll hang on to it for the time being." He retrieved the envelope from her desk, perplexed by this sudden delivery. Clearly, it warranted further investigation. "I'll be in my office for the rest of the day, and I... I need some rest. I don't suppose you could..." He trailed off, embarrassed by the nature of his request, and his features shifted into a sheepish grin. The flush on his cheeks was evident to the secretary, who attributed it to his innate shyness: the young man seemed to have a permanent nervous streak when it came to women.

"Certainly, sir. I'll notify anyone who asks that you are not to be disturbed." She gave him a knowing glance, and added, "If you don't mind me saying so, sir, you need the rest. You seem to be rather tired these days, with your red eyes and everything."

His cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson, but he managed to keep his composure as he laughed nervously. "They're naturally red anyway – it's not like I can do anything about it. But thanks for your concern." He gave her a grateful nod and entered his office, closing and locking the door behind him.

Rock looked around the office with distaste. It was not as though he hated the sparse furnishing: the room had been laid out and fitted according to his own specifications, and he had been satisfied with it. And every single item in the room, from the high-end computer on his desk to the clock on the wall, had been provided to suit his specific needs. No, the problem lay elsewhere.

To Rock, the room was tainted. The entire building exuded an evil aura: it bore the stench of dirty money and spilt blood, of dark deeds and corruption. Everywhere he turned, his consciousness was constantly assailed by the ever-present signs of his captivity, an unceasing reminder of the forces that held him in the shadows. The building formerly known as Geese Tower still bore the mark of the man who had once owned it; though Rock refused to recognise him as father, he was still forced to acknowledge his legacy – a lifetime of crime that Geese Howard had built up into an empire, and which had now been handed down to his inheritors by marriage. The place now bore a different man's mark...

_The mark of Kain, _he thought cynically as he slumped into his chair. _I'm doing that double-crossing villain's dirty work... and he can keep on manipulating me as long as he knows about Mom._

In the solitude of his office, he felt safe enough to let out a sigh. The man held the one secret that tied Rock to Kain's cabal. In his hands lay the truth about Marie Heinlein, Kain's sister... and Geese's wife. As long as Rock remained in the dark about her life and death, he was beholden to the puppetmaster. Kain was the one holding the strings now, and he was unlikely to relinquish them any time soon.

_So that's how it is. Three years, and I'm no closer to finding out about Mom than I was after the tournament. He's playing me along, and I have to dance to his tune._

He tossed the thick manila envelope down onto his desk, and its contents burst forth, the sheets of paper scattering all across the tabletop. At the top of the stack lay a letter, written in a familiar, heavy-handed scrawl that Rock recognised on sight.

_Terry?_

He picked up the small sheet of paper, staring blankly at the script even as his mind made out the words, seeing them but not comprehending their meaning.

_Dear Rock,_

_It's been a while, hasn't it? Hope you're doing well. There's some really interesting stuff in the package... Not that I understood any of it, of course, but you always did better than me in the brains department. _

_I know you'll do fine, no matter where you go. Just know I believe in you._

_Best regards,_

_Terry Bogard._

The final line sent a pang of sadness down Rock's spine. He remembered when he had heard it last. How could he forget?

* * *

Terry Bogard wandered the hallways of Kain's mansion, searching desperately in the shadows for his protégé.

He didn't have to go very far. The crimelord of Second Southtown stood in an open doorway, smirking at him.

"Welcome, Terry Bogard." From his lips, the greeting sounded more like an insult. And that wasn't good.

"Why you! Where's Rock?" he demanded, anxiety building up in the pit of his stomach.

In response, Kain simply pointed to the shadows behind him. "Rock? He's here, of course." To Terry's horror, Rock slowly stepped through the doorway to take his place beside Kain. The smirk turned into a full-blown sneer, as Kain crowed triumphantly, "He's with me now, blondie! We're a team now." His eyes were wild with the elation of victory. "So back off, wolf boy."

Terry could not believe his ears. The boy whom he had raised and trained, all these years, in the hope that he could one day outgrow his father's legacy... had he succumbed to his evil blood, in spite of everything? "What's going on, Rock?" The Legendary Wolf howled, despair and desperation clouding his features.

It was then that he saw the boy's face. There was no scheming in his eyes, no blazing hatred or evil intent in his gaze... but his face was a mask, barely hiding the conflux of turmoil, self-loathing and resignation that lurked in his heart. And yet, Terry made out the one feature that gave him hope – in spite of all those, the determination that Rock had held still boiled beneath the mask.

Rock replied, his face still unreadable, "Don't talk me out of this. When my accounts are settled, I shall return to this town."

Of course. The boy was a young man now – it was his choice to make. And if the only way to find out about his mother was to go along with Kain's schemes...

"So be it! It's your choice. Just know I believe in you!" Terry's voice was confident once more, secure in the knowledge that the boy's better nature would one day prevail. And with that, he turned to leave, his profile silhouetted in the hallway – the twilight of a great fighter and a good man.

Rock watched him leave, burying his sorrow at having failed his mentor deep within his heart.

_Forgive me... Terry._

* * *

And so the past had come to haunt him once more, with its dark secrets and bitter legacies. Rock's fingers flew to the remaining sheets of paper that lay scattered across his desk, scooping them up and scanning through them feverishly as he tried to make sense of their contents. They were facsimiles of all kinds of records from the Southtown Archives: official documents pertaining to births and deaths, police statements, ward records, post-mortems and autopsies... He fished out a particularly strange-looking stack of paper that looked like a meaningless mess of letters and closely checked its title: it read, "Results of DNA Tests".

He pored on and on, examining the documents that had been given to him, and as he read, his face was darkened by the slow madness of rage. His free hand clenched into a fist, a blue nimbus glowing around it – his cursed blood boiled with an unparalleled fury.

The clock struck two. To Rock Howard, the chimes sounded like a death knell.

* * *

In all her years, Katherine Yardsley had never felt such a strange sensation as what she was feeling now. The trickle of fear that had begun rolling down her back had suddenly intensified into a raging cascade, sending her into a panic that was barely suppressed. She looked down the hallway at the closed door of Rock's office, sensing that the terror came from within, and quailed at the thought of the evil that possibly lurked beneath the innocent-looking frame of that young man.

It came as a surprise, then, when the sensation abruptly stopped and Rock Howard nonchalantly walked out of the door. To all appearances, nothing seemed amiss – his expression was carefully neutral, giving nothing away that linked him to the violent presence that had flowed from the office.

"No offence, Mrs. Yardsley, but I think I'll be taking a walk instead. Thanks for fielding my calls and everything." A forced grin appeared on his face, one that seemed almost... feral.

"M-m-my pleasure, Sir," she stammered, trying to shake the lingering feeling of dread that had overwhelmed her moments before.

"Call me Rock, really. It won't matter anyway – I... how should I put it?" He ran a hand through his hair, lost for words. "I'd advise you to hand in your letter of resignation soon."

The news, coming so shortly after the terror, was doubly shocking. "But why? Hasn't my service been satisfactory?"

A chagrined look came over the youth's face, and he replied, "Don't worry. The problem isn't with you... it's with this place." And with those ominous words, he stalked back down the hallway, almost like a predator searching for his prey.

Mrs. Yardsley watched his departing form in fear, and turned back to look at the empty office – or more precisely, what had once been his office.

Not a single splinter of furniture was left intact in the devastated room.

* * *

"Excuse me, but I'm looking for Kain. Would you happen to know where he is?"

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Heinlein isn't around right now. He's... at a business meeting."

"Ah. Thank you."

"Mr. Howard, you don't look too well. Should we..."

There was a sudden blur of movement, and the guard found himself hurled through the office door, his body wracked by the sudden burst of power that had erupted from Rock's outstretched arm. He was barely able to reach for his commlink, screaming in a voice fuelled by pain and fear, "Howard's gone berserk! Call for backup immediately!"

* * *

Rock stepped from the elevator into the foyer and found himself encircled by a dozen burly men in suits. _More goons,_ he thought. One of them stepped out of rank and raised his hand, saying, "Excuse me, Mr. Howard. If you would just wait here..."

The cruel light flared in Rock's eyes.

_I'm done with that._

He hurled himself forward without warning, slamming his elbow into the man's stomach and sending him skidding across the polished marble floor. The other thugs were stunned: they had not expected him to fight against such odds. But they were still eleven, and he was but one boy... They began to tighten the half-circle, hoping to force him to submit.

But he had disappeared.

"Looking for me?"

The voice had come from behind them. Their heads turned in unison, just in time to witness another one of their number flung into the air like a rag doll, soaring for a brief moment until gravity took over and slammed him face-first into the ground. And like a raging demon, Rock Howard rose into a standing position, a cold grin on his face.

The remaining men braced themselves. They had been told of the youth's fighting abilities and his lineage when he had joined their organisation three years ago. But now they were facing off against it – a completely different matter altogether, especially when they had never expected such a force to turn against them. And they were afraid. Frantically, they spread out around the foyer in an attempt to catch him from his blind side.

One of the men ran up to Rock, lashing out with a spinning kick that would have floored any normal person. But to the young man, the assault was humiliatingly slow; he caught the foot in mid-strike and vaulted over his opponent's head before slamming his foot into the man's skull. The bodyguard crashed to the ground, unconscious.

_Three down, nine to go._

In the heat of the battle, Rock recognised a distinctive sound from behind him: the soft whisper of metal sliding against fabric reached his ears. He instinctively whipped himself into the air, twisting in his flight even as the first bullets ricocheted off the ground. The gunmen froze, shocked by the boy's sudden evasion; they were still staring when he landed on the first man's head, knocking him cold. Panicking, the second shooter turned towards his fallen comrade, only to receive a swift blow to the face for his pains.

Rock turned from the collapsing man and faced the rest of his opponents; seven pairs of eyes stared back. Suddenly, whether out of bravado or the thought of safety in numbers, the thugs rushed at him simultaneously.

Rock grinned and swept his arm up at them, launching a wave of purple energy that skimmed across the floor at the oncoming assailants. The pack scattered, leaping and rolling out of the way of the blast – two of them were too slow, and they found themselves flung heavily backwards into a pillar, nearly immolated by the explosion of ki. The remaining five approached him from all directions, trying desperately to take him down.

He gripped the closest bodyguard by the lapels of his shirt and threw him over his shoulder, the man's back and the floor making contact with a sickening crack. The next threw a haymaker punch at Rock's chest – Rock parried the blow easily and swept him off his feet with a low kick, following up with a quick chop to the throat that laid him out for good.

The three thugs left standing continued their attacks in an almost suicidal fashion. Rock floored the first comer with a pair of well-aimed kicks to the stomach and head, even as the second one tried to sucker-punch him in the solar plexus. The attempt failed miserably. Rock simply blocked the punch and returned it in kind, sending his opponent crumpling to the ground in pain, where a hard kick to the temple finished him off.

The last man surveyed the foyer in utter panic, and all he saw was the ground littered with his comrades' bodies and the angel of Death before him. Turning towards the exit, he bolted, hoping to escape the fate of his partners.

Rock simply rushed forward and soared into the air, his fist raised high. The ki surrounding it took shape: an ethereal wing formed along the margin of his arm even as he swooped down, laying the fleeing gangster flat with a dreadful blow.

There was silence. A pair of red eyes hungrily surveyed the foyer, searching for more fools to take this rage out upon, but all that Rock Howard saw was the bodies of the fallen. And for a brief moment, pain and horror overcame his anger; a stabbing torment seared his vitals and he bent double, struggling to contain the energies that he had brought forth.

The power he had wielded was truly terrifying, destined only to bring terror and destruction to all those who surrounded him. He desperately wanted to give it up, to simply cast it aside and stop the unholy fires that raged in his veins before they consumed him. Staring at his hands, still crackling with the terrible energies that he had used to defeat the men, he was aghast: it was a resort that he took no pleasure in turning to.

From the silence came the slow sound of clapping, a harsh, mocking sound to his ears. Rock whirled around, his rage re-igniting as he was suddenly reminded of why he had started this in the first place.

Kain R. Heinlein stood in the entrance, applauding Rock's victory in unconcealed mockery. There was cold amusement in his eyes, a chilling sort of humour that danced in his red irises as he stepped among the fallen bodies of his minions, completely uncaring as to their welfare.

Rock's fists blazed once more, and his voice lowered to a menacing growl as he contained his rage – just barely – enough to announce, "I quit."

If Kain was at all surprised by this sudden announcement, he failed to show it. But his thin, bloodless lips pressed together, and he replied in a voice of honey and poison, "Of course, my dear boy. But don't you have some affairs to settle before you leave this company?"

_Mother._ Rock was livid. He forced out a response through clenched teeth. "My mother is dead."

Kain began to speak, but he found himself immediately silenced by Rock's menacing glare as the young man continued speaking. "She's dead, Kain. The documents only came in this afternoon. Would you like me to read them out to you?"

Even Kain, a master of manipulation and control, found himself unnerved by Rock's sureness. He masked it well, though. In an even voice, he replied, "Certainly. Please do."

"Listen well. These are the medical bills incurred by one Marie Heinlein during her stay in Southtown General Hospital." Rock withdrew a sheaf of papers from an inner pocket in his coat and thrust them into the older man's face. "She was warded in the pauper's wards – no one paid for her chemotherapy. The course of treatment had to be stopped, and she eventually relapsed. She disappeared from the wards under mysterious circumstances." He choked, letting out a guttural growl from his throat, but the rage channelled itself into a force that kept him speaking. Another handful of papers emerged from within the folds of his suit, and he tossed them at his uncle. "It's the death certificate of one Jane Doe, signed by the state coroner. Cause of death: leukaemia. Attached is the police report relating to the discovery of her body in an alleyway." And finally, a third stack of documents was sent scattering in Kain's face. "These are the DNA tests conducted on an unidentified body in Southtown Cemetery, purported to be the body of Marie Heinlein, last reported as missing from Southtown General Hospital. Results show 99.97 percent probability that this woman was Marie Heinlein, and also that she was the Jane Doe from the alleyway. The body was re-interred in a marked grave. All these documents were presumed destroyed following the Zero incident."

He paused, gasping for breath as his emotions threatened to overcome him, struggling to keep the rage from spilling over into madness. But the questions kept flowing out, uncontrollable: "Where were you when Mother died? Why didn't you do anything for her?" And most damning of all:

"Why – did – you – lie?"

Kain had remained silent all this while, his demeanour unruffled by the onslaught of accusations. And now that his nephew had fallen silent, it was his turn to speak, in an emotionless tone that froze Rock to the core.

"She chose her own path." Rock's outraged protestations were cut off by Kain's upraised hand, and the crimelord continued to speak. "I told her that Geese would come to no good end, but she wouldn't listen. She was... enamoured by your father, it seems, and she refused to heed my warning. So I cut off all communications with her – to me, she was a Howard and no longer a Heinlein, even though she insisted on keeping the family name. But you know how it is with blood." He grinned chillingly. "I tried to help her, of course, but your father had seen to it that I would be... otherwise engaged, shall we say, by the police at that time."

It was Rock's turn to fall silent.

"Your father ruined my sister, young master Howard, and so I shed no tears when he died at the hands of your beloved Terry. And since I was denied the chance to kill Geese, what other way was there to take my revenge..." Kain's lips curled with scorn, "...than to remake his legacy in my image?"

"What are you talking about, you fool?"

Kain laughed harshly. "Look in the mirror, Rock, and you'll see what I mean."

Rock didn't need any more hints to know what the man referred to. He stared at the silvered panel that had been mounted behind the counter, seeing the reflections of uncle and nephew in the sunlight: mirror images of blonde hair, red eyes, suits and tarnished souls stared back at him.

His voice was barely a whisper. "You used Mother to get at me... and you used me to get at..."

"That's right. Geese. I suppose he'd be proud of you, in a way, to see what you've become now. After all, I'm sure he would have wanted for his son to take over his empire." Kain allowed himself a smirk; Rock desperately wanted to wipe it off his face with his fists. "But for the last of the Howards to be transformed, along with his empire, into the pawns of a Heinlein... I think I shall be having the last laugh."

"You won't be laughing very much when I break your jaw," Rock snarled, his fists now burning brightly in shame and anger.

Kain merely laughed at Rock's threat. "If you want to quit... you'll just have to leave the same way you came in, won't you?" He swept his gloved hand aside, and purple flames, the heritage of the Heinleins, ignited around his body. And in response to their shared blood, Rock's own aura began to take form, sending the power and the pain that lurked within to unimaginable levels. Rock staggered under the crushing weight of his boiling hatred, his control on the brink of dissolution.

His uncle watched the boy's discomfort, and mocked him. "Nerves, Rock?" He shaped a lance of flame in his hands and hurled it at Rock, yelling, "Perhaps this will help!"

It did. The added pain was enough to drive Rock over the edge, and he screamed; his consciousness faded away, and the beast within roared in exultation.

"Much better." Kain tossed another fireball in Rock's direction, but the youth leapt over it with ease this time, arcing through the air with his fist cocked. Kain met him in the air, launching himself from the ground in a trail of fire and smashing him to the ground. Rock went with the impact, rolling backwards into a crouch, but by then Kain had alreadypropelled himself into a blazing charge towards him. The berserk boy threw himself into a dash, matching speed for speed, and the two combatants collided in a blinding burst of ki.

Rock found himself being thrown backwards with incredible force, barely able to control his landing. He came down heavily on his feet, the impact jarring his entire body even as he tried unsuccessfully to stand. But Kain, the more experienced fighter, had already recovered from the collision and was now in flight, flames burning around his arms. There was no room left to dodge...

He found himself flipped upside-down, his entire lower body twisting into a spinning drill. And suddenly, he launched into the air, kicking desperately at his enemy, his feet a blur of motion.

In his maddened state, he barely felt his feet slamming into Kain's body, stopping his uncle's attack prematurely. But when he landed and looked up, there was a trickle of blood flowing from Kain's lips. The elegant man's calm composure had broken with his skin, and he raced forwards, his face twisted into a grimace of hatred as a burst of fire erupted around his body. Rock grinned maniacally, and ran up to meet him blow for blow...

Too late, he saw the glowing ball of energy that Kain had launched – the attack had been a feint. Rock found himself trapped, pummelled by countless waves that tore through every fibre of his body until he howled like a damned soul. And Kain watched, smiling like a tormenting devil, enjoying the torture that his erstwhile protégé was being put through...

His eyes saw the opening that appeared as Kain prepared to make the final blow, but it was not his conscious mind that made the decision to act. He had relinquished all control over his own body; his last desperate attack was made, not through his own volition, but by an instinct that lurked deeper within.

Rock dashed forward in a final burst of speed, barely having enough time to note Kain's startled reaction before he slammed into the crimelord with reckless abandon. His fists and feet struck out automatically, a whirlwind of attacks, smashing away at Kain with sledgehammer blows. And the cursed blood cried out in response, relishing each and every strike that was made, until it released its violence in a bone-shattering pulse of ki that blew Kain away.

Kain fell to the ground, and only Rock remained standing, hunched over once more as the last lingering traces of the dark energies subsided. All he felt was the grim satisfaction of having defeated the man who had manipulated him for the past three years, using nothing more than a false hope. But he could not afford to let the blood control him anymore: the price was simply too great.

Two fresh bodyguards rushed through the entrance to Kain's aid, shouting, "Mr. Heinlein! Do you need help?"

"I'm fine." He rose up from his fallen position, wiping off the traces of dust on his suit, and turned to his nephew. "So you _are_ your father's son after all."

Rock turned around swiftly, his eyes betraying one last flash of anger. "No, I'm not. I'm myself... and you'd better remember that."

His uncle dabbed at the trace of blood on his lips with a handkerchief, and smiled in condescension. "Really? I'm sure you'll have second thoughts about your decision... Gentlemen, kindly escort Mr. Howard off the premises."

They stepped up to Rock, but he brushed their hands off with a contemptuous snort. "I know the way." He turned his back on the men, walking out the entrance for the last time without a second glance.

"Mr. Heinlein, do you want us to go after him...?"

"No need for that." Kain shook his head, watching the young man leave. "He'll come back soon enough, in his own time. After all..." He smirked, arrogant even in defeat.

"...some day, he _will_ inherit all this, whether he likes it or not."

* * *

The sun set over Southtown Cemetery, casting long shadows across the final resting places of the dead. Two stood out in particular, shadows of the living and not the dead – those of a youth and an older man. They stood in silence, paying their respects until the orange sky began to fade into shades of dark red. 

Finally Terry Bogard asked, "What will you do now?"

Rock turned to his mentor, sighing, and replied, "I promised you before, didn't I? When my accounts were settled, I would return to this town."

The older man smiled. "So..."

"Yes. I'm going back. I don't know what will happen, of course, but it's as good a place as any to start." There was a note of uncertainty in Rock's voice, but he suppressed it well. His mind had been made up.

Terry clapped his hand on his shoulder. "All the best, then. If you need help, you can always look for us. We're living on the outskirts of town."

"Thanks for everything, Terry. I owe you." And with those parting words, Rock walked off to his motorcycle, having paid his last respects to his mother, and drove off into the sunset.

* * *

Terry returned to his own bike, parked outside the gates of the cemetery, and to the woman who waited for him. He gave her a smile. "Thanks for helping me dig up all those documents, Mary." 

The blonde, petite woman winked at him and complained playfully, "You owe me one week's worth of housekeeping, Terry. Those files were nearly impossible to locate after the Zero Cannon nuked the archives – I had to pull rank for some of them, and as for the others... It wasn't easy." She leant back, watching the departing figure vanish into the distance. "It was worth it, though, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was." Terry locked his fingers together, deep in thought.

"So, you think he'll be okay?"

"He'll be fine. When it comes to winning, it's always about heart... and that kid's got heart to spare." He straddled the bike, Blue Mary riding pillion, and gunned the engine into life as they rode away.

The wolf departed with a triumphant roar, knowing full well that the future now lay with the young cub.

* * *

Notes:

Comments, corrections and constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated, especially regarding the comparative city layout of Southtown and Second Southtown.

A large number of details in this fic have been taken from Kailu Lantis's story FAQs for Fatal Fury and The King of Fighters. I know it isn't canon, but it comes close.

Edited 20/05: Well, proofing proved abortive (pardon the pun). Still, here's a reworked version of the prologue. Credit goes to Rubberchicken for editing.


	2. 01: Devils at the Doorstep

Blood

Chapter 1: Devils at the Doorstep

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting), The King of Fighters, and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

_On hindsight,_ Rock reflected, _Alaska__ would have been a better place to start. _He paced down the streets of Second Southtown with little enthusiasm, wondering if he hadn't made a stupid mistake when he'd made the decision to return.

It had all started so well. The money in his bank account was more than enough to support him for several months, and he'd been able to rent an apartment on the north side of town for a reasonable price – and more importantly, without too many questions asked. It stood to reason, therefore, that the next act would have been to get a job. And so he had woken up one morning, grabbed a copy of the _Southtown__ Classifieds_, and started looking for job vacancies.

That was when the trouble started.

By rights, there should have been no lack of opportunities in a place like Second Southtown. The entire town was on the rebound following the Zero Cannon's devastation, and the local industries were growing rapidly under the influx of capital that had been poured into the town's reconstruction. There should have been work aplenty for all who sought it, for every practice and profession.

That was, every practice and profession, except the ones that Rock Howard sought.

His first option had been to return to the club where he had previously worked as a bouncer, the "Old Line". He liked the job: it was pretty calm most days, the music was good, and on the rare days when things got a little rough... he was ashamed to think about it, but the fights allowed him to vent a miniscule part of his rage in the only way he knew. It wasn't as though anyone complained – they knew they were asking for trouble, and soon enough, his reputation had been enough to scare most patrons into orderly behaviour.

On the first day, he had called up the owners, having seen their ad for hired help in the newspapers. They'd agreed to hire him for a trial period – after all, he had done a satisfactory job prior to his departure – and so, he'd gone to sleep that night in confidence of gaining a new job.

It came as a shock, however, when they called the next morning to inform him that his services would not be needed, citing "prior applicants" as their reason for rejecting him.

Their ad reappeared in the classifieds the next day, and Rock had departed, puzzled, in search of other work.

But everything went downhill from there: it seemed as though the harder he tried, the less jobs seemed to be available for him. Companies that had placed "Wanted" ads in the news now rejected him without even granting him an interview; if he was unlucky, the receptionist would cut him off the moment he even mentioned his name. Some of them gave the reason for their rejection as either "not meeting the stated qualifications" or "overqualified", if they were kind enough to give him a reason at all.

_Rubbish, _he thought. _I applied for the exact same posts of chef at two rival diners, and I ended up with one of each reply._

He'd taken to wandering from building to building, knocking on doors and begging for work like a vagrant, albeit one with a much neater appearance. But none of them had given him much of a chance. The security guards had to politely reject him, usually after some consultation with their bosses, and so far he'd been turned down by at least twenty-five companies.

It hadn't ended there. He'd begun to notice that people on the street regarded him strangely, as though some alien or outcast walked their streets. Of course, part of him attributed it to his red eyes – you didn't see many such people around who weren't albinos. Another small part thought that he was overreacting to his current failure; he was just being paranoid.

_That must have been my optimistic side, _he mused cynically. But he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that people were saying... things about him. Everywhere he turned, he saw pointed fingers and heard disparaging whispers, even though no one cursed him to his face, and the stares were beginning to take their toll on his already-depleted hopes.

And so, after two weeks of unsuccessful searching, he found himself walking dejectedly back to his apartment with nothing to show for his efforts except sore feet and a very heavy heart.

The sounds of unfamiliar speech began to drift into his ears as he walked northwards. It sounded vaguely related to the Japanese that his mother had taught him in happier times, yet he was unable to understand a single word of it.

Suddenly, he recalled where he had heard that language before. Three years ago, a pair of brothers had entered the tournament, speaking in the same tongue as the language that he heard now. They'd become fast friends, seeing how Terry knew their father, and they'd managed to build a short-lived friendship during the brief span of the competition. But Rock seemed to have picked up a small part of Terry's incompetence with languages; no matter how hard they tried, they could never teach him how to speak their tongue correctly.

_It's Korean. I must be approaching Yok Chong Market._

A moment later, the smell of Korean cuisine wafted towards his nostrils, and he found himself to be correct. He also found himself to be terribly hungry: in his futile attempts to find work, he had inadvertently forgotten about lunch.

_I'd better get something to eat. The stress already puts me at risk of stomach ulcers; no need to make it worse._

His stomach growled in assent.

* * *

"Hey, isn't that..."

"Yep. I'd recognise those eyes anywhere. Hang on, okay? I'm going to have a little fun."

"Now wait a minute! Where do you think you're going?"

"Relax, little bro. I promise I won't do anything life-threatening, okay? It's just that we haven't seen him for quite a while, and he needs a proper welcome and all that..."

"...if you make an ass of yourself, I'm going to walk off and pretend I don't know you."

"You always say that."

* * *

"Finally..."

Rock stopped, dead in his tracks: the words had been in English. And that voice sounded familiar...

"...the Rock... has... returned..."

He turned around, only to see a brown-haired man making a complete fool of himself.

To all appearances, the man was a nutcase. One foot rested on a stool that he had appropriated, while the other was placed on the table, much to the consternation of the shopkeeper who owned the articles. His hand was raised up to his lips, as though he was clutching an invisible microphone, and he stood on his precarious perch like some parody of a conquering general. Beside him, on the ground, a younger, blue-haired man looked the other way and put on his best "I Don't Know This Moron" look.

"...to Second Southtown."

There was only one guy who could possibly have been that flamboyant.

Kim Dong Hwan leapt down from the table, dragged his brother from his seat, and yelled, "Welcome back, Rocky! Where've you been?" The self-proclaimed taekwondo god was ecstatic on seeing a long-lost acquaintance, and obviously didn't try very hard to hide it.

Rock cringed, completely embarrassed by the unwanted attention that he was suddenly the centre of, and barely managed a feeble, "Hey."

"Sorry about my brother. He's a little... exuberant." Kim Jae Hoon muttered conspiratorially. Rock remembered him too: the younger brother had always been the more serious of the pair. Evidently, three years hadn't changed much.

Dong Hwan draped an arm lazily over Rock's shoulder, much to his discomfort, and said, "Hey. Lunch is on me. And while we're at it, you can tell us all about what's been happening these days. I'm sure you've got lots of tales for us."

Rock wasn't sure if he wanted to talk, but the offer of lunch was remarkably tempting to a hungry man.

* * *

_It's amazing how anyone can eat that much, _thought Rock, as he watched Dong Hwan start on his third helping of beef and rice. He himself had barely been able to finish his large helping, even though he'd been hungry like the wolf – _bad pun, Rock. Bad pun._

"...so anyway, it turns out that Dad had survived by the skin of his teeth, and now he's back. He's retired, anyway – he's leaving the 'justice' stuff to Jae now." Dong Hwan's words were muffled by the rice that he'd shovelled into his mouth.

_At least it's the right men coming back to life now._ He remembered Terry's accounts about his father, and how he'd survived the fall off the roof of Geese Tower through means unknown... it seemed rather unfair for the good to die young and the wicked to keep coming back over and over again.

Jae Hoon glared disapprovingly at his brother's uncouth manners, and turned to their guest. "So, where have you been these three years? You disappeared right after the tournament, and nobody knew where you ended up." He took a sip of his soup, and continued, "We asked Terry, but all he would say was that you'd gone away."

_Well, I just quit from my previous job as the right-hand man of the guy who succeeded my estranged father as the boss of the Southtown underworld._

"...I've been in business. I just resigned recently."

"What kind of business?" Jae Hoon's dark-blue eyes suddenly focused on Rock, boring through his cover story like a diamond-bit drill.

Dong Hwan looked up from his rice just long enough to mumble, "The word on the street is that you were hired by that poof, Kain."

_It looks like there's no hiding anything from these guys. _Rock shifted uncomfortably in his seat for an interminable period of time, as though Jae Hoon's stare had lit a fire under his seat. He wouldn't put it past the younger Kim's abilities either – Rock had witnessed his fiery techniques first-hand during the Maximum Mayhem tournament.

He finally elected to tell them the whole story. After all, Terry had trusted their father in his time; Rock knew that he could probably trust the man's sons.

"Okay, I know this is going to be a little hard to believe..."

* * *

"...and I've been unemployed ever since," Rock finished. There was a brief, stony silence as the two brothers listened, digesting the cold facts of his tale. He continued lamely, "I mean, I didn't want to do Kain's dirty work, but he kept holding that secret over me..."

"Don't worry, we're not going to judge you for that," replied Jae Hoon, after a while. "If he coerced you into supporting his crime syndicate, then I don't think anyone can hold you accountable."

Dong Hwan had listened in silence – _a miracle, _thought Jae Hoon, rather unkindly – until now. "Some uncle," he remarked indignantly. "Never lifted a finger to help your mom, didn't pick you up after your parents died, and now he pops up like a jack-in-the-box and forces you into partnership? If you ask me, you should have given him a few more punches for your mom's sake." He scratched his ear contemplatively.

Rock wished he had, too, but the risks had been too great: he knew it would have cost him his soul. "I have a violent pedigree... unlike your family," he muttered, hanging his head in resignation. A_nd it comes from both sides of the family tree – my father's evil nature and my mother's cursed blood... so there's no escaping it, is there?_

Jae Hoon thought over the possibilities for a long while, eventually saying, "Perhaps that's why you can't get a job. Considering that the people know about Kain's growing control of the Southtown underworld, and that his ex-right-hand man, a guy named 'Rock Howard', has fallen out of his favour, it stands to reason that the companies are afraid to hire you..."

"...or that they're being compelled to reject me."

"Perhaps." Jae Hoon looked thoughtful. Suddenly, a look of alarm crossed his face. "Is your life in any danger? After all, Kain's a mafia boss; there's no telling..."

"Not likely. If he wanted to kill me, he would have done so immediately after our battle." He shook his head. "No, he values blood ties too much for that. He intends to lure me back into joining him again. Either that, or he wants to chase me out of town." Rock was crestfallen at the thought. To think that his new start should have run into such difficulties, courtesy of his now-estranged uncle... the idea was truly depressing. All of a sudden, Alaska seemed more and more enticing.

As though his thoughts had been read, Dong Hwan spoke up. "What now, Rock? Tuck your tail between your legs and run away?" The query came out sounding more like a challenge, but Rock knew that he had to face up to the reality: he would either have to find a solution to the problem, or admit defeat and leave the town.

"I don't know." He buried his face in his hands, hunching over the empty plates of their meal. "I can't let him win, that's for sure. But that means I have to find some means of employment in Second Southtown."

Dong Hwan abruptly snapped his fingers, creating a small spark of lightning that caught Rock's attention. "I have an idea."

"Oh, no," moaned Jae Hoon in mock dismay. "You know, Rock, when he does that, it usually means that he hasn't used his brains."

"Shut up, Jae." Dong Hwan nudged his brother in the ribs. "I'm serious."

"That's a first."

"...I left myself open for that. Anyway," he continued, getting more and more excited, "I'm working as a bouncer at a bar right now. It's a small place, and the owners don't exactly like crimelords, no matter who's the guy in charge. If I could persuade them to let you work for them, maybe taking over part of my shift..."

"...then Rock would have a job, and you'd have more free time to eat, sleep and chase girls, right?" interjected his brother. "Sounds like a good idea." Jae Hoon grinned from ear to ear: it wasn't every day that he received the chance to irritate his brother. Most days, it was the other way around.

Dong Hwan pulled a face at him, and concluded triumphantly, "I'll tell you what. I'll notify them and let them set up the interview, and you can thank me later after you get the job."

To Rock, this was an incredible stroke of luck; he hadn't expected such a good ending to his futile job hunt. And he was immensely grateful to the brothers for having helped him out of his predicament. "Thanks for helping me out, guys. I don't know what I'd have done if you two hadn't come along."

"No problem," replied Jae Hoon, scribbling something down on the back of a scrap of paper and handed it to Rock. "That's our address and phone number. If you need anything, give us a call. Speaking of which, where're you staying?"

They exchanged contact information, and Rock rose from his chair. "I'd better be going now. Once again, thanks, guys." He walked out of the market slowly, feeling rather more optimistic than when he'd entered.

The Kim brothers watched him shuffle off slowly, wondering what strange fortune it was that had led the three of them to meet.

Finally, the elder brother broke the silence cautiously. "So, what's your opinion?"

Jae Hoon shrugged. "He's a good person – Terry brought him up well. But he seems to have too many burdens to bear for a guy of his age." Turning to his brother, he stared at him with serious eyes. "I mean, after what he's been through, and what he said about his families... there's no knowing if he'll be able to lead a normal life. He needs all the help he can get."

Dong Hwan, ever the unflappable one, stretched and yawned. "That's what we're here for, eh, little bro?" He winked. "Remind me to check with them tomorrow, okay?"

"You're awfully self-confident about this, aren't you? 'Thank me later, after you get the job'? Yeah, right."

"Okay, so I put on a little show to boost our friend's confidence. Big deal."

"You're right," muttered Jae Hoon. "And I suppose we can be confident about this..."

"Hmmm?"

"...if they're willing to hire you, they'll take on anybody."

"HEY!"

* * *

The next day was glorious. The sun blazed brightly in a clear sky, the air was fresh and crisp, the birds were singing... and Dong Hwan wasn't noticing any of it, considering that he was still fast asleep.

Jae Hoon returned home, having taught the morning's batch of students in the gym, and was aghast to find his brother sprawled over the bed and snoring away. _Typical Dong Hwan, _he thought, and proceeded to do the one thing that would wake him up.

Dong Hwan awoke to find himself soaring through the air, and barely righted himself in time to avoid landing on his head. His younger brother then proceeded to toss the rest of the pillows at him, yelling, "It's ten-thirty, you lazy bum! You'll be late for work... again!" Jae Hoon grumbled, continuing, "I don't have to hurl you out of bed every morning, do I?"

The sleeper rubbed his bleary brown eyes, mumbling, "C'mon, Jae. The bar opens at eleven. I can afford to take my time, can't I?"

Jae Hoon's face was contorted into a mess of exasperation and pain. "Not today. Remember, you owe someone a favour... and you'd better be on the good side of your bosses when you talk to them."

"...Oh, crap."

In a flash, Dong Hwan was in the bathroom, trying desperately to make himself look presentable. Jae Hoon had never seen his brother move so quickly, unless he was in a fight... or eating... or chasing girls.

On second thought, that meant practically all his waking hours.

Dong Hwan catapulted himself out of the bathroom, frantically changed into a decent set of clothes, and was out of the bedroom door like a streak of lightning. Jae Hoon could hear his mother's voice yelling from downstairs.

"Dong Hwan! What do you think you're doing?"

"Sorry, Mom! Gotta run!"

A sigh of despair escaped Jae Hoon's lips. Some things never changed...

Twenty-nine minutes later, an exhausted Dong Hwan stumbled up to the door of the bar where he worked, panting from the sheer exertion of chasing after buses that perversely seemed to flee from him, and collapsed on the ground.

The bartender, co-proprietor and ex-bouncer of the Illusion Bar stepped out, her sharp gaze locked onto her wristwatch. "Not bad," she said, with the barest traces of a French accent in her English. "You're on time today. Who knows, if you make this a habit..."

"No thanks, it's bad for my health." In spite of his condition, Dong Hwan was still in a reasonably good humour.

"Very funny, Dong Hwan. Now, obviously nothing short of Orochi would have made you wake up early, so what was it you wanted to see us about?" She brushed the fringes of her short, blonde hair, bemused by the young man's comical appearance.

Dong Hwan picked himself up from the pavement and put on his most charming smile, trying his best to convince the woman of his cause. "You see, Mrs. Sakazaki, there's this friend of mine..."

"When you smile like that, it usually means trouble. Let's go inside."

The two of them walked into the bar, the bartender hanging the "Closed" sign behind her.

* * *

They sat in one of the booths in the bar, negotiating the terms of Rock's employment. Dong Hwan had made a rather convincing case, but the woman known as King hadn't made it this far in Southtown without being particularly shrewd. She pursed her lips in thought, tapping a finger on the table, and commented, "Well, we are a little short on help right now, and he _is_ a friend of Terry's..."

"So you'll hire him, won't you?" Dong Hwan's voice was eager.

King raised a gloved hand. "Not immediately, Dong Hwan. We'll have to interview him first. My husband's pretty wary about the hired help these days, considering my condition." She sat back in the chair, waiting for Dong Hwan to respond to the slight.

He obliged. "I'm recommending him, and if you want to, you could always give the Bogards a call if you need character references."

"I know, but it's policy." Her eyes suddenly grew distant, remembering the battles of times past. "It's been a while since we last saw him, you know, back in the King of Fighters tournaments. He was such an adorable little kid back then... but time changes everyone, and you did mention his 'previous employment record', if I remember correctly."

"Don't worry about it. My brother and I will vouch for the guy."

King thought that Dong Hwan would have made a good salesman, with his permanently confident demeanour that never seemed to disappear. _If only he'd learn to talk less and listen more... and grow up._ Aloud she said, "Still, we'll have to set him up for an interview. My husband will insist on it. Anyway, you can tell your friend to drop by the bar tomorrow morning, before opening hours, and we'll interview him. Eight o' clock should be fine." She wagged an admonishing finger at the present bouncer. "And he'd better not be late, unlike a certain someone... now get to work!"

"Sheesh, Mrs. Sakazaki. You sure know how to make a guy feel bad." Dong Hwan's cheesy grin grew wider than ever, and he stepped out into the open air. The young man rifled through his wide pockets, finally pulling out his cellular phone, and dialled Rock's number.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the line sounded a little more cheerful than he remembered.

"Hey, Rock. It's me, Dong Hwan. Your interview's at eight o' clock tomorrow morning. Go down to the Illusion Bar on the east side of town."

The words sparked a distant memory in Rock's mind. _Why does that name sound so familiar?_

"And don't forget to tell us about your success, okay?"

"Sure." Rock hung up the phone with a click, and started his mental preparations for the interview.

_It's just a job as a bouncer... I mean, how hard could it be?_

* * *

_Me and my stupid overconfidence.___

Rock found himself shrinking into his seat before the man on the other side of the table. Not that the man was physically imposing: he stood no taller than Rock, although he was of bulkier build, but Rock had faced off against opponents the size of linebackers without flinching and won easily.

No, he decided, the man's power came from within. He could sense the older man's aura – a fighting spirit that could have overpowered all but the strongest of fighters. And there was a familiarity about that aura that he recognised: from the days when Terry had brought him to the fighting tournaments, he had learnt to identify the strong contenders simply by sensing their power, one fighter to another. Terry had reflected such power; so did this man sitting opposite him now. And his presence, though not particularly menacing, still threatened to make this one of the toughest interviews that Rock had ever gone through.

"Name?" The man's voice was gruff and impersonal.

"Howard... Rock Howard." _So far, so good.___

Unfortunately for him, the interviewer's eyes narrowed in suspicion upon hearing that name. "Sounds familiar."

Rock swallowed hard.

The man at the table continued, "Age?"

"Er... twenty-one since last month."

"That's what they all say." It was the truth, according to Rock's ID, but the interviewer just wanted to see what the boy did under pressure.

Rock squirmed, but replied weakly, "It's on the card."

"Okay." He took some notes and continued with his next question. "Family?"

"Dead." _I thought my mother was alive, until recently. _"Legal guardian, Terry Bogard."

"Yeah, I've heard the name." The man did not seem impressed. He scribbled on his pad for a little while, and then went on to ask, "Any criminal record?"

Rock was silent. He sat in the chair, stock-still, facing off against the formidable man opposite him. What was he to do? It went against his grain and upbringing to lie, but to reveal the truth about his time in the underworld would probably cost him the interview, as well as his last chance at employment. He'd been denied work for telling far less.

And so, the two of them waited in silence. To Rock, it seemed as though the man had suddenly grown in size, looming over him like a dangerous beast, waiting for him to fumble. The bar seemed smaller now – or was that just his imagination? In his mind, he saw himself as the cornered prey and his interviewer as the ravenous dragon, toying with its prey before devouring it whole. There was no escape from this booth; he would have to fight his way out... He forced himself to maintain a calm exterior, knowing full well that he would surely turn out to be the loser if things came to blows.

And suddenly, the oppressive aura vanished, and the bar returned to its rightful state. Rock slumped into his seat just a little, relieved.

"Very good, young man. You're hired."

The interviewer stroked the faint stubble on his chin, continuing, "You're a little impulsive, but you've got a good heart and a fighting spirit to back it, like the reports said. Lesser men would have panicked or started a fight by now."

Upon hearing this, the female bartender turned to the booth, calling out, "Ryo, were you trying to intimidate the applicant again? You know, it's not good for business."

He smiled back at her fondly. "Just checking something."

Rock froze in his seat. _Like the reports had said?_ Who were these people? The name "Ryo" was, once again, another vague memory in his head, but he couldn't place it either.

"Excuse me for asking, but your name sounds familiar..."

The blonde man laughed heartily. "It had better be! I'm surprised Terry didn't mention us more frequently. I'm Ryo Sakazaki, and that lady over there tending the bar is my wife, King." He extended his hand in greeting.

Rock accepted the handshake with clammy palms, finally remembering where he'd heard the name before. "Wait... you're the current master of the Kyokugen school of Karate, aren't you?" That had explained the man's latent power – he was another one of Southtown's fighting legends! Terry had described his powers as, "probably rivalling mine"; no mean feat for any fighter. "There was a guy from your school in the Maximum Mayhem tournament..."

Ryo nodded in assent. "I see you've met Marco, then. He said you cleaned his clock thoroughly, you know."

The young man was surprised the unexpected praise. He remembered that fight – it hadn't been one-sided at all, from what he recalled. He'd come from the contest sorely punished, winning only by a hair. But then again, the Brazilian exponent was frank, if anything.

Ryo continued, "Anyway, my wife mentioned that you were looking for work, so I took the liberty of checking the facts with Terry – the interview was just a formality. Terry spoke quite highly of you."

_No wonder,_ thought Rock. But there was one thing that puzzled him.

He turned to King, stammering, "N-not to be rude, Mrs. Sakazaki, but..." He trailed off, wondering how to phrase his query. "I mean, Terry mentioned that you were an excellent fighter, and that you used to be a bouncer yourself, so..."

"What's the matter, Rock? Cat got your tongue?" King was incredibly bemused by Rock's bashful nature. "You know, Ryo, you used to be like that once, didn't you?"

"Honey, you should know better than to bring that up... And stop teasing the kid already." Ryo complained, although more for his own benefit than Rock's.

"So... why are you all shorthanded? With Dong Hwan around, two bouncers should be enough to handle anything." Rock scratched his head, slightly confused.

"A word of advice, Rock." King waved her hand at the bewildered boy. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth – unless you're my husband, and even then Tatsumaki doesn't count."

"What?"

"Never mind, it's an inside joke." She smiled cryptically, confusing Rock even further. "With regards to your question, let's just say that I've been prohibited from doing any custodial work for the next half-year or more, due to my current... condition."

Rock caught the looks exchanged between husband and wife, and flushed deeply once again when he realised what they were talking about. He didn't need to ask any further.

He did make it a point, however, to handle things more carefully around the pregnant woman.

* * *

Notes: No pre-readers were harmed in the production of this chapter.

What is a pregnant woman doing at the bar? Well... I guess a bartender who drinks on the job is called "irresponsible". Correct me if I'm wrong.

I refuse to call Marco Rodriquez "Khushnood Butt". It's a matter of principle.

For details on Kim Kaphwan's current condition (alive), please read "A Father's Sins, A Father's Sons". It's mediocre, but it includes a little background on the Kims.

I can never figure out King's eye colour: it was green in the KOF2000 selection screen and blue in the ending. Therefore, any reference to the colour of her pupils has been edited out. We apologise for any inconvenience caused.

Inside joke: "Tatsumaki" is Ryo's horse.

Comments, corrections and constructive criticism will be welcomed.


	3. 02: By Moonlight

Blood

Chapter 2: By Moonlight

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

Two whole months had passed since the beginning of Rock's new employment, and the young fighter had slipped back into the anonymity of regular life as easily as the proverbial fish to water. He was a Southtown lad, born and bred, and it seemed that not even Kain could make it otherwise.

So when Jae Hoon went on to enquire about Rock's status one night, Dong Hwan's report was positively glowing.

"He's fine," his elder brother remarked lazily, "but I still can't believe he actually _volunteered_ to do the night shift."

He rolled over onto his belly, holding one of his assignments out as he tried to make sense of its contents. "You know, Jae, nobody chooses the night shift unless they're really spoiling for a brawl. In the daytime, the patrons don't dare to try anything funny, but at night... I'm surprised nothing has happened to him so far."

"Well, the Illusion _is _a quiet bar, you know." Jae Hoon remarked. "And anyone who tries to cause trouble probably has to contend with the wrath of the school of Kyokugen Karate soon enough."

"Yeah, but even when I was doing a full-day shift, the odd troublemakers still turned up. Now all of a sudden, Rock takes over, and that Hell's Angel shows up as gentle as a lamb, quietly sits in the corner, takes his drink, and leaves!"

The two of them regarded each other quietly, sharing an unspoken thought about Rock's reputation.

Dong Hwan shrugged, continuing, "Not that I'm complaining, of course. Now that he's handling part of my old duties, I can't complain about not having enough time to myself. Who knows, I might actually get around to completing those correspondence degree courses that we're applying for."

"Not if you keep slacking off, you won't." Jae Hoon reached over to his brother's work, crossing out the blatant error that had made its way onto the assignment sheet. "Buck up, Dong Hwan. You can't be a genius at everything." He rose from his seated position, glanced at the clock, and stretched his limbs in relaxation. "Okay, that's enough work for the day. I'm going out for a walk." There was a slightly unfocused look on his face.

It was then that Dong Hwan noticed his brother's clothes; Jae Hoon was wearing a checkered shirt and trousers – unusually formal for clothing around the house. His brother had never been one for dressing up... not unless it was something important. And Dong Hwan, experienced in the ways of the world, had a good idea of what kind of a walk his brother would be taking.

"With whom?" he teased, and was gratified to see Jae Hoon's face turn a bright crimson. "Oh... I know! Your girlfriend from the gym must be waiting for you! Let's see, what was her name again... Chae? Soo-Ri? Mina?"

"Her name's Jun," retorted Jae Hoon in irritation, "and perhaps you'd remember if you actually turned up for training once in a while!"

Dong Hwan's smile turned wicked. "Nah. I'd probably steal her from you, you know. No woman can resist my charm and wit." He struck a pose, his eyebrow cocked in a jaunty manner.

The younger Kim rolled his eyes in disdain, and descended the steps to the main hall.

His parents were waiting, of course, as parents were wont to do. Not that he blamed them, of course – certain incidents in their family history had made them leery of dark alleyways and night walks. But he wished that they would allow him a little more autonomy when it came to his life. After all, he was twenty-two. He chafed with the impatience of youth; not as much as Dong Hwan did, definitely, but he chafed nevertheless.

His father was the easier of the pair to deal with. After all, his narrow escape from death at Freeman's hands had led to a year of hiding, reflection... and watching. And having watched through the shadows as his sons battled in the tournament, the man knew, implicitly, that his sons were perfectly capable of looking after themselves.

His mother, on the other hand, was not so easily swayed. The year of her husband's 'death' had been a terrible one for her, and now that he had returned, she clung on to her family tightly, not daring to risk another loss. Jae Hoon didn't blame her, of course, but there were times when he wished that she would just relax a little. Worrying did no wonders for her health.

It came as no surprise to Jae Hoon, then, that his mother was the first to speak.

"Isn't it a little late to be going out, Jae Hoon?" Her voice was inquisitive, but not overbearing; a good sign.

He replied, "It's only nine o' clock, Mom." And then, predicting her next question: "Don't worry, I won't go looking for trouble, okay? I'm just going out for a walk with Jun." There was no sense in keeping the truth from her; it would just make her worry even more.

"But..."

Kim Kaphwan spoke up on his son's behalf. "Come on, dear. Let the boy have some time to himself. He's an adult already, remember?" The older man gave Jae Hoon one of his trademark grins, and winked. There had been a time when a younger man had done the same thing, and the sight of his son in love brought back nostalgic memories. Silently, he wished his son luck.

Jae Hoon turned to his mother, and reassured her, "I'll be back by eleven. Trust me, okay?"

His mother's brow furrowed, but in the end, she reluctantly released him with the admonition, "Take care, okay? The streets were safer back in our day." Her brown eyes clouded with worry.

"Sure. See ya." He slipped his shoes on and walked out of the door casually, hoping that he wouldn't appear too eager to get out of the house. But the spring in his step was too obvious to be concealed from his parents, who watched his departing figure with apprehension and hope.

"Ah, to be young and in love..." Kim Kaphwan smiled. "You know, you should really let him live his own life. He's old enough to take care of himself."

His wife regarded him with worried eyes. "You were always the idealist. I'm not so sure... after what happened to you, there's no telling what might happen. And I'm worried for both our sons. It's good that Dong Hwan doesn't work the night shift anymore, but this town... it's just not safe."

"Myun, you worry enough for the both of us. He'll be fine. If anything, it's the evildoers who should be panicking right now."

* * *

Blue Wave Harbour was, to all intents and purposes, a memory of bygone days. Having been constructed in the days of Mr. Big and Geese Howard, it had fallen into disrepair in the following days, no thanks to the newer, more modern harbours that had sprung up on the other side of the island. The Zero incident hadn't helped at all; more money had been pumped into the reconstruction of Southtown's infrastructure, and a place like Blue Wave, narrowly missed by the blast, ranked pretty low on the list of priorities.

These days, few ships ever docked there – on a good day, the odd private boat could be seen drifting forlornly some distance from the shoreline, but it was hardly the bustling harbour that its constructors had envisioned thirty years ago. In fact, the most action it ever saw was from the occasional couples who walked by on moonlight strolls – Blue Wave Harbour was certainly deserted enough for the lovebirds' tastes.

It was no surprise, then, that the Lilien Knights had made Blue Wave Harbour their regular port of call. After all, their leader was a romantic at heart, and if it made smuggling easier, then it was all good by her book.

The harbour was deserted, shrouded by the fog that had drifted inland, and there were no lovers present to notice the ripples that had mysteriously appeared on the water's tranquil surface. And just as well, for a dark shape suddenly rose from underneath the wooden planks of the pier, breaching the surface and sending wet splinters flying into the air with a tremendous crash.

The subsequent screech that issued forth sounded more like a boarding cry than a whisper, but Bonne Jenet had never been a subtle character anyway. The leader of the Lilien Knights slid down the side of her submarine, landing gracefully on the remains of the platform, and let out a most un-womanly oath.

"Next time, could you please try to leave the pier intact?! We're not a demolition crew, you morons!"

"Sorry, boss." The rest of the pirates swarmed off the submarine, carrying their goods with them, and began to spread out along the dock.

Jenet sighed. Smuggling wasn't as lucrative as treasure-hunting, but it certainly paid the bills when the pickings were lean. And with Second Southtown's booming growth, there were opportunities aplenty, if one knew where to look. Duty-free liquor was one, for example – a niche which the Lilien Knights were happy to exploit. Now if only they could resist taking slices out of the profit...

The crew began to unload their barrels of contraband off onto the pier, and the operation was already in full steam when a man's booming voice suddenly echoed from the shadows. The pirates froze in panic.

"So, these are the Lilien Knights? Not bad for a group led by a woman."

Jenet turned in the direction of the voice, suddenly wondering if their smuggling operation had been compromised by the police.

_No, the cops would have lit this place up like a Christmas tree by now. But this guy sounds too arrogant to be hiding in the darkness, like any smart Southtown citizen would... who is this weirdo, muscling in on my ring like this, and how does he know who we are?_ She shouted angrily, "Okay, buster. Get your ugly mug out here where I can see it."

The mysterious newcomer obliged, and he slowly stepped from the shadows that surrounded the pier.

Bonne Jenet eyed the man warily. From appearances, the fellow was a bruiser; he wasn't tall by the standards of her crew, but his form was heavy-set and compact, the ripple of muscle evident even under the clothes he wore. A dark blue robe of Chinese make covered his body, but his face was obscured by the wide-brimmed hat he wore.

"Much better. Now, tell me. What are you doing here, and how do you know who we are?" Jenet pointed an accusing finger at the man, who didn't even flinch.

"My name isn't important. But on behalf of Mr. Heinlein, I'd like to offer you and your crew a warm welcome to Second Southtown." Even with his features hidden, there was no disguising the amusement that he bore in his voice, which only served to irritate Jenet even further. She knew that somewhere beneath that hat lay a grin, and she was highly tempted to wipe it off his face with her shoe.

Instead, she responded, irritated, "I know that name. So he's become the big fish in these parts?"

Jenet allowed herself a smirk. "The man's nothing but a two-bit criminal, and a bottom-feeding scum-sucker to boot. And you can tell him that the Lilien Knights send their regards." She gave the man a two-fingered salute flippantly. "Now scram!"

The man wasn't even fazed by the rude reply. With a voice so calm it infuriated the pirate captain, he said, "Sorry, that isn't possible. If you would let me continue..." He exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air, "You and your crew are welcome. Unfortunately, your wares are not."

"Say what?!" shrieked Jenet.

"Sorry, woman. No smuggling goes on in these parts unless Mr. Heinlein permits it. Now kindly put the goods down and leave quietly; I don't think you want to attract attention..." He noticed her revealing purple dress, low-cut and slit high at the thigh, and quietly added, "Then again, maybe you do. Women these days..."

Jenet was steaming now – to think that the man was telling them to simply surrender the goods and leave! What impudence! And to insult her to her face in such a manner... this would not be tolerated. She shouted, "You're one to talk! I'll show you!"

With that, she crouched low and whipped the train of her dress forward, sending a focused gust of wind in the man's direction. The blast sent a barrage of debris flying at the man, enough to floor anyone unlucky to get caught in the way of the attack.

But the man was no longer there.

_Where's he gone?_

Then, a wave of energy exploded from the ground beneath her feet, and she was suddenly thrown hard against the iron hull of her submarine. The man landed from his leap, taunting her with a flick of his hand.

Jenet struggled to her feet, recognising the sinking feeling that forced itself towards the surface of her heart.

* * *

Jae Hoon's romantic interlude was rudely interrupted by the shouts that echoed from the alleyway. Instantly, he recognised the noises – the sounds of violence were not unfamiliar to his ears.

_That doesn't sound good._ He ran up to the side of the building and peered around the corner, only to see the scenes of violence that unfolded before his eyes. The crates of alcoholic beverages which had been smuggled in were now in pieces, their valuable contents leaking out onto the dock. And those weren't the only things which had been scattered – the limp bodies of pirates lay all across the harbour.

The pirates – he recognised the Lilien Knights instantly from his time in the tournament – were not faring very well against their assailant. He watched on, wide-eyed, as two fleeing men were brought down quickly by the mysterious man's chasing blows. A third tried to deliver a sneak attack, but the man simply whirled around and slammed his fist into the pirate's face. Jun caught up with Jae Hoon just in time to see the man fly past them into the wall with a painful thud, and she winced.

"Retreat, men! Let me take care of this creep!" With that, their leader jumped into the fray with a leaping kick, catching Kain's henchman unawares. Surprised by the sudden attack, he was knocked into the air with another toss of Bonne Jenet's skirt, landing heavily on his feet. In retaliation, he seized one of the crates of liquor which had been left around, and tossed it at Jenet with a heavy grunt. The woman rolled out of the way of the attack, dodging in a hail of alcohol and glass. But even as she ran up for another attack, she slipped; her foot lost its purchase in the pools of liquor that had formed all over the ground. She steadied herself, but to no avail – the lapse had been enough for the unknown attacker to rush in with a shoulder charge.

Jae Hoon watched in horror as the man slammed his shoulder into Jenet's torso, sending her reeling, then followed up his attack on the defenceless woman with a double palm strike to her chest. The scream of pain that issued from her lips was cut short by a violent, energy-laden punch to her ribs, sending her flying once more into the hull of the submarine. This time, she didn't get up.

"This is definitely bad," he whispered, reaching into his pocket for his phone and handing it to Jun. "Call the police. I'm going to lend a hand."

Jun grasped the phone numbly, watching her boyfriend rush into danger. It was only a long, fear-filled moment later that she finally mustered enough of her senses to make the call.

* * *

It was a late night at the station, and all Sergeant Kevin Rian wanted to do was to return back home. Marky was probably waiting for him... assuming, of course, that he hadn't already fallen asleep.

As a result, he was considerably irritated when the telephone suddenly rang. The duty officer picked up the receiver, drawling, "Second Southtown Police Department."

The considerable activity of the man's pen came as a surprise to Kevin. Ordinarily, he would have expected something minor, like a domestic accident, or maybe a few drunkards making public nuisances of themselves. The streets of Second Southtown had been quiet ever since the Freeman case... Kevin had celebrated the murderer's death with a cigarette, and nearly choked on it when they never found the body. But no news was good news, as far as crime was concerned.

No, things were much quieter these days, which was why Kevin leapt up in surprise when the duty officer called out, "Brawl at Blue Wave Harbour – the caller reported at least twenty persons involved."

This was odd – a bust-up like this never happened these days, not even when the annual fighting tournaments started. His cop's intuition began sounding off warning alarms - it paid to follow that gut instinct, and his experience had proved it. Agitated, Kevin dashed from his desk, closely followed by the rest of his men.

"Move out, people. We've got some big fish to catch."

* * *

Bonne Jenet's head spun crazily as she tried to re-orientate herself, still stunned from the punishment that had been meted out. The pain in her chest made it hard to focus, but she mustered up her last reserves of energy, trying desperately to recover. Through the clouds of pain, she was able to make out voices – there was an unfamiliar war-cry, and then their attacker called out in reply, "What? Another interloper?"

Obviously, someone else had entered the fight. And it was this newcomer – a young man, from the sounds of it, and not American – who shouted, "Evil cannot be forgiven!" in fluent English.

_I'd recognise those words anywhere. It's that arrogant kid... what was his name? Kim Jae Hoon? Yeah, that was it._ She began to panic: had he come to bust their operation as well? If so, then he would have a really easy task.

Her vision swam; she sucked in a hard, tortured breath and forced herself to stand on shaky feet. Now the attacker stood with his back to her, and beyond him, another figure stood against him in clear opposition. There was a blur of motion – the man lunged forwards with a hard punch. But the youth hopped backwards, evading the blow nimbly, then leapt in with a high kick to the chin that would have stopped a charging bull. The assailant dodged in retreat, a deft move for one who seemed so bulky.

So, was the boy on their side? Jenet didn't know for sure, but she would have taken her chances with the devil she knew, rather than the devil she didn't. Jae Hoon may have been a fearsome fighter, but he wouldn't have beaten her men around the way Kain's man had.

Now the two combatants faced off, focused solemnly on their bout and nothing else. Now was her chance. Staggering, she lunged at her tormentor, hell-bent on her revenge...

The mystery man heard the footsteps a moment too late, and found himself seized by the collar.

"That's for hitting a lady!"

The slap to his face hurt little more than an ant-bite, but the surprise of the attack left him unprepared for the next, far more painful blow. Jenet followed up her slap by slamming her high-heeled shoe into the man's crotch, sending him reeling back in a mix of shock and pain.

"And that's for hitting me... there!" she screamed, taking sadistic delight from the pain she inflicted in revenge. "Nobody touches my chest and lives!"

Unfortunately, the man was more irritated than hurt by the attack. And as Jenet swung her arm around in another arc, ready to slap him once again, he caught her by the wrist in a grip of iron. Jenet found herself staring into a pair of very angry eyes.

"Eep."

He punched her in the stomach, visibly annoyed, and flung her in the direction of the onrushing Jae Hoon.

* * *

Jae Hoon shook his head in despair. _What is that crazy woman doing?_ The taekwondo practitioner leapt out of the way, barely preventing Jenet from tumbling off the edge of the pier with an outstretched hand.

"What are you, nuts?" he muttered, interposing himself between the pirate captain and her attacker. Clearly, this was going to be much harder than he thought. He knew he couldn't fight at full power: the alcohol-slick ground was all too flammable for the burning kicks of his techniques. And now he found himself with his back to the pier, without room to manoeuvre or retreat. He was caught in a corner now...

Sensing his discomfort, the fighter pounced like a tiger, delivering a piercing kick in the direction of Jae Hoon's waist. There was nowhere to run; he raised his knee in a defensive guard, hoping to minimise the damage of the coming strike.

Foot connected with knee in a violent impact, and Jae Hoon instinctively responded with a flurry of kicks, hoping to drive the man backwards. The man's body was a veritable blur of motion, dodging the attacks with unparalleled speed – but Jae Hoon felt the impact of his foot against flesh.

He looked, and found that his kick had made contact with the man's chest... but the man hadn't even flinched. The glint of teeth was visible, even from beneath the hat – the man was grinning!

_What kind of monster is he? He didn't even feel it!_

The man seized his foot in a hard grip, and Jae Hoon suddenly found himself spinning in mid-air as his opponent wrenched his leg around and threw him aside. Landing awkwardly on one knee, he keenly felt the sudden rush of pain that shot up his leg.

_Damn. There goes my ankle. And I haven't even been able to hurt him at all!_

He steadied himself, raising his head as the other fighter taunted his weakness. But when he tried to rise, he found that his ankle would no longer support his weight; in agony, he dropped back to one knee and silently cursed his inability to fight on. The man rushed in once more, ready to settle the fight permanently.

Suddenly, there appeared two flashes of colour before his eyes – one purple, one pink – and the mysterious man found himself on the receiving end of a whirlwind of kicks. Even though he managed to fend them off, the sheer momentum of the attacks drove him back to the entrance of the harbour. And as he retreated, the two blurs resolved themselves into familiar figures.

Bonne Jenet hunched over, panting from the exertion of the fight, and gave Jun a sour look. "Who are you, his girlfriend?"

Both Jun and Jae Hoon responded with a stony silence.

"Forget I asked." She dusted herself off, keeping one eye on the man who had attacked her, while the target of her gaze simply shifted into another stance, waiting for the right moment to execute another attack.

Jae Hoon was desperate. He hadn't intended to involve Jun in this at all, but she had jumped to his defence without hesitation. Now, all three of them were targets, and they weren't in any condition to take their attacker on. _What do we do now, lie down and die?_ He tried once more to stand, but his ankle failed him, sending yet another burst of pain through his leg. Gritting his teeth, he stifled an outburst even as Jun rushed to his side in concern.

The wail of sirens tore through the night air, and the pirates' assailant whipped his head around in surprise.

"Well, it looks like I've overstayed my welcome. Goodnight!"

With a tremendous leap, he disappeared into the darkness, leaving an enraged Bonne Jenet in his wake.

"Coward... what's Kain thinking, sending some punk to ruin our business?" she hissed. But she, too, had stayed too long – the police would be arriving at any moment. Turning her head to Jae Hoon, she leant over and whispered, "Sorry, darlin', but I'm outta here too. Thanks for stepping in. Have fun dealing with the police!"

She kissed him playfully on the cheek, much to Jun's displeasure, and darted off towards the waiting submarine before anyone could stop her.

"Who was that hussy?" she muttered accusingly, even as she helped Jae Hoon to stand. "For that matter, who was the other fighter?"

He shook his head wearily, draping his arm across her shoulder. "She's just a pirate – a bit of an airhead and a tease, but no harm to anyone. The man... who knows?"

His mind was divided. On the one hand, he was glad that everyone had come out of the encounter alive... especially Jun. But there was still the matter of Jenet's last words.

_Who was that man, and what does Kain have to do with all this?_

The sound of sirens grew louder in his ears, and a familiar figure appeared hastily from the alleyway. Kevin Rian raced out, running out towards the couple, while his men began to sweep the area for any remaining combatants.

"Jae! Are you alright? What happened here?" Bereavement brought the strangest of fellows together: Kevin had been a source of support for the Kims following Kaphwan's encounter with Freeman. He knew, all too well, what it was like to lose someone to the murderer.

Jun helped her boyfriend over to the side of the alley, and Jae Hoon began to tell them everything he knew about the situation... which wasn't much.

* * *

The last of the police officers returned empty-handed, finding nothing but broken bottles and crates as evidence that anything had even happened there. Kevin took down Jae Hoon's statement, digesting the scant evidence carefully.

After a long period of thought, he finally commented, "Some days you hit the bulls-eye, and some days you just miss completely."

"Sorry?"

The policeman sighed, releasing a breath of mingled smoke and mist. "The Lilien Knights aren't very high up on our wanted list. Sure, they're smugglers," he explained, "but they don't cause much trouble compared to some of the gangs that roam Southtown's streets. Besides, most of their time is spent in waters outside of local jurisdiction, so we ignore them for the most part... at least, until they turn up in our harbours."

He flipped back a page on his notebook, scanning through the information that he'd taken down. "But you said that Jenet mentioned Kain... we've been looking for evidence against him for years. So far, all the evidence we've come up with are nothing but scraps; he sits pretty in his mansion, laughing at us, and we can't do anything because we can't find a reason for it!"

A cigarette butt hit the water and sizzled briefly, extinguishing itself.

"He's been pretty quiet these few months. No rumours, no word from the insiders; they say he's been lying low ever since his right-hand man left the business. You know, that Rock kid from the tournament. If only we could get something more concrete than this..."

Jae Hoon sat in silence, nursing his injured ankle and wondering if he should tell Kevin about Rock's continued presence in Southtown.

_I can't tell him. Rock's trying to leave his past behind. If I start dragging it up now, there's no telling what kind of backlash he'll receive... or how he'll react. But Kain has to be taken down..._

"Anything else you want to mention, Jae?"

He made his mind up, and shook his head in an uneasy silence.

"Well," said Kevin, "that wraps things up here, I guess." He closed the notebook, stowing away into the pocket of his vest, and gestured at Jae Hoon's swollen ankle. "You won't be able to get anywhere on that foot. I'll give you and your girlfriend a lift back, okay?"

So it was nearly midnight when a police car drove up to the Kim residence, and three pairs of eyes watched disapprovingly as an exhausted Jae Hoon staggered out, his clothes rumpled and reeking of alcohol, with lip prints on his cheek and a distant look in his eyes.

He caught the looks on their faces, finally figured out why they were giving him odd looks, and began to panic.

"I swear, this isn't what you think it looks like..."

* * *

Notes: No pre-readers were harmed in the making of this chapter.

I know absolutely nothing about American police protocol, so the description of Southtown's police will be extremely inaccurate.

It is generally accepted that the girl in the pink _dobok_ is Jae Hoon's girlfriend. A non-canon name has been given: Jun. (Not to be confused with Jhun, who will not be mentioned in the course of this fic.) It sounds better than "Nameless Ever-present Girlfriend".

Bonne Jenet, as always, has been portrayed as a ditz.

Comments, corrections and constructive criticism... ah, you know, you know.


	4. 03: Management

Blood

Chapter 3: Management

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic. (And a good thing too, because I'd probably end up having to pay people to read this stuff anyway.)

* * *

The morning's headlines screamed out at Rock from out of the front page of the newspaper: there was no way he could have missed the news regarding the previous night's smuggling attempt, foiled by a public-spirited citizen of Second Southtown named Kim Jae Hoon.

Intrigued, he bought a copy from the newsstand, wondering if he should pay the Kims a visit.

_Why not? After all, I've got time to spare, and Jae Hoon can't be teaching the classes if he "managed to chase the pirates off in spite of his twisted ankle", as the newspapers wrote._

He tucked the newspaper under his arm and began to walk briskly in the direction of the Korean district, wondering what other things the new day would bring.

* * *

Rock arrived at the Kim residence a good fifteen minutes later, mildly puzzled by the absence of the media. Southtown didn't appreciate her heroes very much, or so it seemed... but then again, that had always been the case. The town had a peculiar, stifling atmosphere that made it so easy to forget things; few people cared to remember the events from the past, skeletons in the town's collective closet that remained hidden even until this day. If the citizens of Southtown objected to crime kingpins ruling and ruining their fair city, they hadn't shown it back then, and they certainly didn't now. It didn't affect their normal life – why should they care who called the shots?

He kept his bitter thoughts to himself, memories of crimelords past and present springing to mind: his father, his uncle... _Snap out of it, Rock. There's no sense in bringing your personal gloom and doom to the house of an injured friend. _He dispelled them with a hard knock on the front door.

It was Dong Hwan who answered the door, much to Rock's surprise. The elder Kim brother grinned from ear to ear at Rock's arrival, remarking, "Yet another of my brother's adoring fans has arrived. Come on in, Rocky!" He slipped aside, holding the door in a mischievous show of false deference.

"Shouldn't you be working, Dong Hwan?" Rock admonished, slipping his sneakers off at the entrance of the house and stepping quietly through the doorway.

A mock look of hurt on Dong Hwan's face promptly appeared, much to Rock's reluctant amusement. "Mrs. Sakazaki's not opening the bar 'till tonight. She's entertaining guests today." He closed the door behind him and followed Rock into the living room.

Jae Hoon and Jun sat on the couch, too lost in their conversation to notice the guest who had entered the house.

"Yo, bro! Get a room already..."

The gagging sounds that echoed from the direction of the entrance were met by Jae Hoon's indignant yell of, "Quit it, Dong Hwan!" Jun buried her face in her palms, barely smothering a giggle.

Rock shook his head bemusedly. Even if Jun was amused, Jae Hoon obviously was not, and he made no bones about voicing his displeasure.

_I wonder when the kicks start flying, _Rock thought perversely. _Terry always got into fights with his brother over the smallest things... or at least, that's what he said._

He wouldn't get his wish this time.

The sight of their guest instantly sent Jae Hoon from his annoyed mood into one of shock, his jaw slamming shut in a flash.

He'd expected Rock to show up sooner or later, of course, but there was no way he could have prepared for the delivery of the news: he didn't want to have to tell Rock that Kain was involved in yesterday's attack. After all, he knew about Rock's desire to leave the underworld behind; to tell the youth about his uncle's latest misdeeds would have been dangerous for all their sakes. The last thing they needed was any trigger that could send Rock spiralling down the path of violence and darkness... a path that would definitely lead back into his uncle's welcoming arms.

Thinking fast, Jae Hoon opted for the more attractive option of damage control. In spite of Rock's unexpected arrival, he managed to force out a greeting that sounded relatively natural – or, at least, a response that seemed suitable for a boy caught with his girlfriend on the couch, even if they weren't doing anything particularly compromising.

"Hey, Rock." He gave their guest a sheepish smile, shifting his weight slightly to take the burden off the injured foot. "What brings you here?"

Rock didn't seem to have caught the brief expression of surprise on Jae Hoon's face, as he replied simply, "Heard about that fight of yours last night. It's all over the news." He held up his copy of the morning papers, letting Jae Hoon have a brief scan of the article.

_No news about mysterious men or Kain Heinlein. Good ol' Kevin._ He allowed himself a secret sigh of relief; he had told no others aside from his brother and Kevin about the man who had attacked the pirates. The news would remain a secret to everyone else – and most importantly, from the young man who stood in their house even now.

Aloud he replied, "Well, thanks for coming by. Have a seat – it's not like I'll be going anywhere anytime soon."

Rock obliged, pulling up a chair from the nearby table and sitting heavily on it. The young man's demeanour had changed significantly since the day he'd turned up in the Korean sector – there was a more relaxed air about him, and the tension had bled from his face long ago.

"It's funny," he remarked, "but where did the paparazzi go? I thought they'd be swarming your house by now."

Jun giggled. "Mr. Kim got out this morning and gave them one of his speeches. They certainly won't be coming back in a hurry!"

There was a groan of agony from Dong Hwan's lips. The merest mention of Kim Kaphwan's rants about justice sent chills down the spine of all evildoers, and Dong Hwan's as well – any fool who cared to listen would have been bored to tears before the half-way mark. He idly wondered how Jae Hoon and Jun were able to stand it.

_Then again, they're all a bunch of justice freaks. Figures._

Jae Hoon continued, "Anyway, Dad's teaching the taekwondo classes today in my place – the doctor said I should be back on my feet in a couple of days. But until then..." He shrugged, gesturing to his injured ankle, and leant back against the backrest on the couch. "Looks like I'm sidelined for the time being."

Rock looked down at the ankle, a swollen, red mass, and a vague hint of suspicion began to cloud his mind. Something was wrong: how could a skilled fighter like Jae Hoon have sustained such an injury? It certainly couldn't have been from slipping on the docks...

He said as much, only to receive an uneasy silence from the three Koreans.

"Hey, what's with the scary faces?"

There was no response.

It was Dong Hwan who eventually saved the others from damning explanations, muttering, "...you have a point there."

He rose from his seat, continuing smoothly, "He should have watched where he was going," even as Jae Hoon's mouth gaped in complete astonishment.

"B–"

And Dong Hwan suddenly cut into Rock's line of sight as though it was the most natural thing to do, giving Jun a wink and simultaneously jabbing Jae Hoon sharply in the ribs with his elbow. He mouthed some words noiselessly – s_hut up_ – before turning back to Rock, diverting their guest's attention to other, more scandalous, matters.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Jae. Next time –" he picked up the pace, now well in his element, "– keep your eyes on the pavement, and your hands off your girlfriend!"

The clouds of doubt that had hung over Rock's face quickly disappeared, replaced by his typical red-faced bashfulness. "Yeah, you should," he murmured, completely overcome by the sudden change of topic to his weak point. "Er..."

"Come on, Rock. Let's give them some privacy, whaddaya say? It looks like they need it." He gave Rock a wink, nudging him in the side. All he needed was a slight push in the right direction to send Rock over the edge with embarrassment...

...and that did it. Rock looked over to the couple, whose situation suddenly looked rather suspect, and cold beads of sweat instantly began to trickle down his forehead. There was the sound of nervous shuffling; Rock nearly tripped over his own feet as he sidled nervously towards the front door. "Thanks, but I'd better be going... er... don't want to intrude or anything... eh... have fun, see ya!"

There was the sound of a door opening and slamming shut, and Rock was gone before any of them could say another word.

And then, the only sound in the room was the sound of Jae Hoon's knuckles cracking.

"If I could stand up, Dong Hwan, I'd kick your ass into next week," Jae Hoon growled. "Last night's fiasco was bad enough, but do you have to make Rock think that I'm some lust-crazed maniac as well?" He shot Dong Hwan a glare that would have withered grass.

His elder brother raised his hands in defence, seeing the looks of pure rage that had been turned on him. "Look... it's all for his own good – I mean, anything to save him from himself, right?"

A conveniently-located roll of newsprint slammed into Dong Hwan's stomach, much to his severe discomfort.

"Owww..."

"Thanks, Jun."

"My pleasure."

* * *

"What, no Ferrari? You disappoint me, Robert."

Ryo Sakazaki folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against the counter, casting a critical eye upon the couple who had just entered the bar. One always did that when it came to the in-laws.

Never mind that Robert Garcia, in addition to being the sponsor of their school and the head of the Garcia foundation, was Ryo's closest friend and fiercest rival. Never mind that the man was a master of the Kyokugen style of karate, just as Ryo was. And never mind that Dad could never decide on who the Dragon and Tiger were, or even figure out whether Robert was Spanish or Italian.

The simple fact that he'd married Yuri instantly shot him to the top of Ryo's list of suspicious characters.

"Can it, Ryo." The woman in question walked over, slapping her brother on the bicep. "I'm sure Robert would have loved to drive over here – you know how dearly he adores his cars! Sometimes, I think he loves them more than he loves me..." She sat down on the nearby barstool and pouted sulkily, much to the alarm of her spouse, who began to sweat nervously under the chill of Ryo's grim stare.

A deathly hush fell over the bar.

King looked up from her spot at the far end of the counter, instantly sensing the killing aura that had descended in the room.

An eternity passed...

"Just kidding." Yuri grinned. "Anyway, we sent the chauffeur off a couple of streets ago. Robert wanted to walk."

There was an audible sigh, courtesy of Robert, as the pent-up tension suddenly evaporated.

Ryo finally turned off his death glare, much to Robert's relief; Yuri's capriciousness was something he'd never had the chance to get used to. Not that he minded, though; life was more exciting – if a little shorter – that way.

"Hey, Ryo. How's everything going?" He straightened the folds of his jacket, regaining some of his lost composure. "We heard about the good news, you lucky dog, but we weren't able to come over until now. Congratulations!"

"Thanks. How are the kids?" replied the father-to-be.

"Well, Dad's taking care of Giovanni and Shintaro back home, so things should be fine... How many months now, King?"

"It's only the fourth month, Yuri, so you can get your head away from my stomach now." She gave a downward glance, receiving a cheeky grin in return. "You never change, do you?"

"Nope!"

_I guessed as much,_ she mused, sidling away from her sister-in-law. Yuri's childish streak had abated with age – not that she'd ever admit to having one in the first place – but it still showed from time to time.

"Drinks, anyone?" King brought out a bottle of wine and began pouring out the liquor, choosing not to partake of it herself. "How's business, Robert?"

"Thanks, King. Things have been pretty stable recently," said Robert, accepting the proffered glass of wine. "As a matter of fact, we were in the middle of a business trip when we received the news, so we weren't quite able to come down. But Southtown was on our itinerary..." He took a shallow sip from his drink. "Yeah, so anyway, we decided to come down to pay you two a visit."

"Is that so..." Ryo's brow furrowed, even as he accepted his own glass of wine. There was something in Robert's tone that just didn't feel right, as though the man was trying to hide a secret or two.

_It's just the jitters, Ryo. You're going to be a father soon, and your nerves are getting to you,_ he convinced himself. But try as he might, there was no shaking the odd premonition that had entered his subconscious.

He decided to change the subject before the feeling got any worse. "So, Yuri... how's married life?"

"Cushy." She shrugged. "Robert's been letting me help with the finances a little –"

"– which is why we've been losing money these days," finished her husband, and quickly ducked under her hastily-flung punch. "Okay, seriously. She's been pretty good at making good deals on the stock market, so she's been making a bundle recently. Never doubt a woman's intuition for bargains."

"Much better." Yuri slumped back, resting against the polished wooden counter. "Southtown companies have been doing very well recently, despite our fair town's prior reputation for being the crime capital of the US. They say you can even walk around at night without getting mugged... or kidnapped."

It all seemed so long ago. The time had passed, when another crimelord had ruled this town and the streets were unsafe for honest men and women. Yuri had been a victim of the times, and none of them would easily forget her kidnapping and the subsequent events that followed, or how Ryo and Robert had fought their way through countless opponents to get her back. But those were bygone times...

"It certainly is quieter these days," agreed King. "The old gangs don't seem to be causing much trouble these days, and as for the current head of the underworld... goodness knows what he's up to, but at least it's not causing any trouble."

With that, she leant forward, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. "Incidentally, I'll let you in on a secret: we hired the unlikeliest bouncer a couple of months ago. Any guesses?"

"C'mon, King. Everyone knows they don't come any more unlikely than you," Yuri guffawed, which caused the bartender to bury her face in her gloved hands. From her palms, a muffled voice could faintly be heard.

"Okay, I was setting myself up for that. Anyway, we hired Terry Bogard's protégé. You know, the son of..." King paused, half expecting Ryo and Robert to come up with some bad joke about domestic fowl.

She certainly hadn't expected the ensuing silence that descended over the bar.

"...Geese Howard."

Robert and Yuri looked at each other, their expressions suddenly sober, and began to talk to each other in nervous whispers. King strained to catch the conversation, and only managed to pick up the last scraps of the discussion.

"...tell them?"

"We'd better." Robert raised his head, turning to Ryo and King with a concerned look on his face. "Okay, I think you'd better brace yourselves for this." He cleared his throat, and proceeded, "You know that we were due in Southtown for some business, right?"

"...yeah..."

"That deal was with Kain."

The clink of glass was clearly audible, even amplified by the damning death of the conversation. A crimson stain splashed across the ground from the contents of Ryo's fallen wineglass, but he didn't even think of picking it up, stunned as he was by the terrible revelation.

"That was warranted."

It was King who broke the silence, her gaze honed into a lance of sharpened steel as she stared at Robert. Yet she gave no other verdict, her face revealing nothing except an expression of controlled neutrality.

But the sound of that name had an electric effect on Ryo. The veins on his temples throbbed in anger as the blood rushed to his face, colouring it a furious scarlet. In his fury, he bellowed, "How could you, Robert? After all we've been through, is that how you regard our ties? This is inexcusable!"

"Calm down, Ryo," Robert replied smoothly, "it's not what you think it is..."

"Then you'd better explain things clearly before I decide to throw you out of this place!" The Kyokugen master slammed a meaty fist down onto the counter in his anger, the hurt of betrayal showing clearly.

"Right. I'd better start from the beginning," said Robert. "We've already told you about the fact that Southtown was next on our itinerary. Well, we were planning to invest in the expansion of some of the local industries – you know how well they've been doing recently, considering that things have settled down considerably since the turn of the century."

"What are you driving at, Robert?"

"Hold on, I'm not finished." He walked over to Ryo's side and took him by the arm, trying to calm his enraged friend down. Fortunately for him, Ryo's self-control was still barely good enough to avoid inflicting any grievous bodily harm upon his person.

"Okay, so one day, the CEO of the local consortium decided to invite us down to negotiate an investment," he continued. "Well... at least, we thought he was the boss around here. So, we came down, all ready to cut a deal."

"Big mistake." Now Yuri cut in, following up on Robert's account. "Somebody forgot to tell us that our friend, Kain, just happened to have a really big say in what goes on in this town. I had to get the word from some old lady who was walking down the street."

Robert resumed his narrative to the perturbed couple, his voice now taking on an unnaturally serious tone. "You can imagine my surprise when Kain showed up in the room." He shook his head wearily; for a moment, Ryo thought he saw strands of silver in his friend's hair, and uneasily dismissed it as another part of his overactive imagination.

"To cut a long story short, he tried to get the Garcia Foundation's backing in some of his businesses. It all looks legal, of course, but we've had our fair share of dealing with slimeballs. I told him that he could take that deal and shove it... well, you get the idea, only I said it politely." Robert finished explaining and took a seat on another barstool, his mood sombre. "And I swear, that's all there was to it."

The silence descended over the room once again.

"You said he tried to gain your financial backing? What for?"

Robert shrugged. "Ostensibly, he wanted us to invest a huge amount of capital in a project to 'remake Southtown', or so he said. I didn't like the way he said it, though. He's got something up his sleeve."

After what seemed like forever, King finally spoke up.

"It's been quiet around here these days... far too quiet." Her voice was foreboding.

"What's that supposed to mean?" queried Yuri.

"Look at it this way. You all know about the reigns of the previous two kingpins who ruled the town... I don't need to go into details."

The other three nodded in agreement. Mr. Big and Geese Howard had ruled Southtown with fists of iron – no law-abiding citizen had been safe under their rule. It had been a given fact that gang wars, murders and all sorts of foul deeds had been condoned, even supported, by the big bosses of the town; Yuri's kidnapping and the death of Jeff Bogard had merely been two of the more prominent incidents. The city had been rife with violence and perfidy, and strangely enough, the people of Southtown had accepted it as their lot – an outcome that none cared to notice.

King jabbed a thumb in the direction of the entrance, pointing at the street outside. "Now, it seems, we're under new management. And how does the new boss start his reign? Sure, he holds a tournament, like they always do. And he starts building up his little empire by subjugating the rest of the gangs. Fair enough." She paused for emphasis, letting the words sink in. "But all of a sudden, he retreats, and there hasn't been a single incident in the news that even suggests his presence! Of course, that's unless you assume that he's going into the liquor industry, judging from yesterday's smuggling case."

Yuri ran a finger down the slick surface of the counter, piping up, "Not likely, but I think I know what you're getting at."

"Good." King didn't smile, although it was gratifying to note that Ryo's once-airheaded sister had finally grown up. "Then you'll realise that it's too much to hope that Kain has given up his evil ways and turned his back on the underworld. Otherwise, the smaller gangs would have risen up against each other long ago."

"Meaning, of course, that he's obviously up to something big. He's probably biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment, as they say. You do that a lot in business. What do you think, Ryo?"

Robert turned to his friend, waiting for a reply, but none came. Ryo merely bent over, retrieving his fallen glass from the floor, and contemplated it quietly for a long while.

A full minute elapsed before he spoke.

"I'll clean the mess up later, King." He set the glass quietly down on the counter, and returned to the subject at hand. "Sorry, Robert... I overreacted. Personally, I trust Kain about as far as I can throw a Ko-ou Ken. If he's really up to something, then we've got to take him down..." There was a crackling sound as he clenched his fists hard, hoping that it would relieve a small part of the worry that clouded his mind. It didn't help.

"But if he hasn't done anything, we can't do anything either." Ryo sighed. "These are different times, you know; we're not living in the good old days when you could simply barge into an evildoer's lair and beat him senseless. Nowadays, they'll sic a lawyer on you if you so much as even breathe on them. And we can't prove anything."

It had seemed so much easier in the old days, when the bad guys would simply retreat in the face of a fighter greater than they, and almost all problems could have been solved by the judicious application of physical force. But none of the people in the bar had been fooled; the kingpins drew their power not only from their might, but from other sources...

"Let's face it. If Kain's power was limited to the sphere of fighters, anyone would be able to take him out. But I think we all know where his true power lies – it's in the way he can manipulate all forms of things aboveground from his place in the underground. That's how it goes." King's voice was grave now, jaded with years of experience gleaned from the shadier streets of Southtown. "But even if he's plotting something, what can we do?"

After another moment of dreadful silence, a timid voice spoke up: it was Yuri's. "You could leave Second Southtown..."

"No." The steel in King's personality came to the surface once again, fighting off the despair that had drifted into the conversation. "You won't believe how long Duck King and I had to fight to be allowed to keep this bar running – Kain has taken out all sorts of legal action against this establishment. He's trying to close us down; I'm not giving it up without a fight... but it's getting harder and harder each year," she admitted. "But I'll be damned if I'm running away from a scumbag like Kain."

"We never have, and we never will," Ryo added. "You don't expect me to leave my students in the lurch... and what kind of message would I be leaving them if I suddenly fled town?"

"What message?" retorted Robert. "Didn't you tell us that you relinquished the teaching duties to your top student? And what good is a dead fighter to Kyokugen?"

The last words struck Ryo as heavily as a punch to the solar plexus – the possibility of death had never crossed his mind until now. "You mean..."

"Yeah. Whatever he's coming up with... it's going to consume the whole of Southtown, and we can't do anything about it. I don't know what exactly he has in mind, but it's going to cost lots, and knowing crimelords, the payment isn't just going to be in terms of money."

"In lives..." Ryo mouthed the words bleakly, still coming to grips with the thought that there was now a battle that could not be fought with fists alone.

"Ryo, we've lived in Southtown for most of our lives, and I don't like the idea of running away any more than you. But what choice do we have? As you mentioned earlier, we can't do anything, and I wouldn't want you guys to get caught in the middle of anything as big as the things he seems to be planning. Look." Robert placed a hand on each of Ryo's shoulders and looked him squarely in the eye. "I trust King's judgement on the matter – we were going to warn you about this earlier, but we needed confirmation. And when she says that trouble's brewing..."

He stared firmly into Ryo's eyes, confronting him with the choice that had to be made.

"You have three lives to take care of, you know."

Ryo's gaze flickered briefly to his pregnant wife, who looked back with a stoic expression that failed to hide the doubts within.

"We'll think about it."

* * *

For a man who had just failed to close a multi-million dollar deal, Kain was in a remarkably good mood.

Garcia had backed out on the contract, as expected. But Kain had won more than mere money; if his predictions were correct, the millionaire would have returned to his friends at the Illusion bar and given them the news.

_And that,_ he noted, _should be another problem out of the way._

He didn't really like the idea of chasing them out of the neighbourhood – these Kyokugen fighters were strong, after all, and they had years of experience on their side. He would have loved to watch them fight, given an opportunity. He would even have accepted the risk of fighting one of them just for the thrill of combat and the chance to prove his skills. But if they stayed on, there would be the chance that one of them would ruin his plans... and that would simply not do.

There was no way he would let them confront him before the appointed time. The road to victory was littered with the corpses of such men, men who'd underestimated their opponents and paid dearly for it. His predecessor had been one such man – and he'd so nearly become another, but for the aid of a mysterious stranger.

Kain's thoughts turned to his newest right-hand man. He regretted Rock's loss, certainly, but the boy would have to return sooner or later. Until then, the mystery man had filled in his place admirably, executing his duties with a stealth and precision that terrified his enemies into fearful silence. A fine man for the job, even if he did have some family problems... He made a note to discuss the issue with his employee later: family problems were the downfall of many men. His experience two months ago had reinforced that opinion.

There was a knock on his office door.

"Enter," he called out nonchalantly, knowing well that his bodyguards would not have admitted anyone save a trusted employee. But the man who entered was trusted by no one, and feared by all of them... yet he walked into the office with calm abandon, and none cared to stop him.

Kain smirked. _Speak of the Devil..._ "So, how was the raid, Mr. Futaba? I trust the Lilien Knights didn't give you any trouble?"__

The older man removed his hat, revealing his face, and replied in an equally-relaxed tone, "They were pretty easy to deal with. I don't think they'll be coming back any time soon."

And then he flicked his queue of hair behind his back, and spoke in the manner of an indulgent grandparent admonishing his grandchild, "You really should have let me wipe them out. It would be so much easier..."

It was the casual way he'd said it that intrigued Kain. The face he stared at was not an ugly one, and certainly not one that inspired fear in the hearts of men; it was impossible to believe that a heart of ice lay behind that round, smiling face with its almond eyes. That only made him even more terrifying to those who knew his reputation. And among the ranks of Kain's unimaginative subordinates, the name of Goto Futaba, the "Smiling Killer", was mentioned only in the most timorous of whispers.

_The man is a cipher,_ he thought. _I can read anyone's emotions from their faces, their body language, and even their eyes. But this man... I can't see through the mask he presents; I see what he allows me to see, and nothing more. And all I can see is that smiling face._

_An interesting man.___

Kain leant back in his seat and waved his hand, as though he was banishing the very idea. "You know how I hate messy jobs, Mr. Futaba. A slaughter would only leave me with too much explaining to do. Besides..." He smirked. "Their leader is rather charming, even if she does seem a little... how would I put it, air-headed?"

"I can attest to that last part, and she obviously doesn't think very highly of you." The smile never left Goto's face, even as he took a seat opposite his boss and broke the bad part of the news. "Actually, there was this boy who turned up. Korean, from the looks of things, and he's got a good kick – he could have caused me a little trouble in a fair fight."

So, the Kim boy had come into the picture, had he? That would be trouble... "So, does he know of our involvement?"

"Hard to say." A noncommittal shrug. "The pirates could have said something about you. I can't be sure, but it isn't in the news. It shouldn't matter."

It didn't, Kain knew. For all that the Kim family could do, they would be no impedance to his plans. He hoped they would put up a good showing when the fighting started.

But one could never be too careful...

He made a note to deal with the Korean problem later. For now, his main priority was to pick the brain of the man sitting opposite him. But it was Goto who made the first move, remarking with a surprising frankness, "You are a forgetful man, Mr. Heinlein."

Any other underling would have been eliminated swiftly for such impudence. But Goto Futaba just sat there like a simpleton, seemingly unknowing of the potential danger of such remarks.

Or perhaps he just didn't care.

Kain decided to humour his forthrightness. "Really? And why would you say that, Mr. Futaba?" he replied, the faintest trace of malice creeping into his voice.

The Oriental man seemed not to notice Kain's violent intent, and elaborated with the irritating patience of an experienced teacher.

"Have you forgotten your dreams? I remember a day, three years ago, when you announced your plans for Second Southtown..." Goto paused, sensing Kain's discomfort, and continued to explain. "Yet for the past three years, those plans have been shelved while your organisation continued to assimilate the other gangs. Now, your precious nephew has left you –" he caught the flicker of anger in Kain's eyes "– and you are practically the ruler of the underworld... yet you still waste your time. What happened to the man who wanted to put an end to decadence in this city? Or has the revolutionary turned soft from luxury? I had such high hopes for you..." he needled.

_So that's his concern._ Kain allowed himself a short laugh, which Goto did not respond to.

"Come, Mr. Futaba. If that is all you are worried about, then you have nothing to fear." He placed a slight accent on the last word, taunting the other in turn for his lack of faith. "As a matter of fact, everything is in place except for the East Wind, as the Chinese would say."

The older man nodded. He was familiar with the phrase, even if it had lost something in the process of translation. "And so you would aim to set Second Southtown ablaze with the fires of violence."

"Perhaps. Anyway, Mr. Futaba," Kain countered, "why are you so interested in the fate of Second Southtown? Surely, you didn't decide to come to my aid on account of pure charity..."

Goto laughed unabashedly. "Certainly not, Mr. Heinlein. As a matter of fact, it just happens that we share the same ideals."

"Really..."

"Of course. Since you are obviously familiar with the Chinese culture, then you should know that the word 'underworld' carries a different meaning in the East."

Kain nodded. "The term refers to the pugilistic sphere, doesn't it?" His eyes locked onto the older Japanese man, realising the import of the words. "So, you would see both underworlds joined – the world of crime and the world of fighting, fused together into one entity..."

"Correct. You seek to free this town from its chains of weakness by turning it into a battlefield; I seek that battle." Goto pointed out at the office window, towards the skyline.

The buildings of Southtown stood framed in the morning light, dark towers against the pale blue sky. It should have been a picture of success, the triumph of the human spirit against the odds. After all, had they not built this city from the ashes of the Zero Cannon's assault?

Yet all that Kain felt was a sense of sheer apathy, emanating from the very core of this city. There was no life, no soul to her; the people of Second Southtown only cared about living from day to day. Their ambition had died, and the rot of complacency had eaten away at the heart in its place, touching all who lived in this town... even him.

_Maybe that's why I haven't done anything yet..._

"You felt it too, didn't you, three years ago? This town is dying. It needs some... action."

Goto's voice rang out clearly in the room, breaking the spell. "Your vision was a grand one, Mr. Heinlein. It showed promise. And I swore to you then that I would do whatever I could to make it a reality..."

"Rubbish," coughed Kain, abruptly interrupting his subordinate's dramatic speech. "Seriously, what's in it for you?"

Goto's eyes narrowed into thin slits, suddenly making his smile seem far more sinister, but the voice he projected was still guileless and clear.

"Mr. Heinlein... how can you even suggest that my intentions are less than honourable?" He almost sounded hurt, the way he'd phrased it. "But you have a point there..."

There was something in that tone that made Kain turn around to face the speaker.

"Don't get me wrong: I want to see your dream fulfilled, to see Southtown transformed into an underworld of its own – a place where the mighty rule..."

Goto's smile had transformed into a disturbing grin.

"...after all, we _are_ the mighty ones."

Kain only smiled back cautiously.

"So we do see eye to eye after all."

* * *

Notes:

Ages have been retconned to fit the KOF series. (There is no way I'm going to make King a 60-year-old pregnant woman.) So has Ryo's "fireball".

Takuma's predicament is a common one: I still don't know whether Robert is Spanish or Italian, and despite all of Ryo's "tiger-named" moves, he's still called the "Invincible Dragon", a title that Marco Rodriquez has since claimed. shrug (Don't bother with the explanations.)

Edited 04/10: Since Robert's nationality is most definitely Italian, there has been a minor change made to this chapter. Inconsequential, but annoying.

The actual Chinese phrase quoted by Kain goes something like, "Ten thousand things have been prepared, all that is lacking is the East Wind," if I remember correctly. Read "The Romance of the Three Kingdoms" for more details. (Why would a Japanese national and an American be referring to the Chinese? It's a long story. I'll elaborate more in the next chapter.)

Okay, I'll admit that I'm tired – I can't write my fic and proof-read it too. If the quality has dropped... well, I don't suppose anyone else noticed this fic, so it doesn't really matter. To the one person who bothers reading it, sorry. But I'll complete it, come hell or high water. And if anyone should come across it and find it lacking in terms of content and plot consistency, please give me suggestions on how to patch it up. Your advice will be greatly appreciated.

No pre-readers have been harmed in the making of this chapter...


	5. 04: Burying the Dead

Blood

Chapter 4: Burying the Dead

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting), The King of Fighters, and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

_Dear Rock,_

_Officially, the reason for my departure is on account of my pregnancy. That is technically true. However, my husband and I have reason to believe that your uncle is up to something big, even though we have no proof. I believe you should be no stranger to this news._

He absorbed the words grimly, unsurprised.

_We have discussed the matter with the permanent staff, and they have decided that it would be better for us to leave town for at least the next half-year or so. In my absence, Duck King, the co-owner of the Illusion Bar, will be taking over my present duties. (You can't miss him.) Sally and Elizabeth have decided to stay and help manage the bar, and Dong Hwan has chosen to keep working here as well._

_As for you, I leave it to you to decide if you want to remain. I apologise for the sudden developments. Please refer all administrative issues to Duck King._

Rock placed the letter back into its envelope and stowed it away in the pocket of his dress jacket. The message that had been left for him bore King's flowing signature; it was authentic, no doubt. But the sight that greeted his eyes when he entered the bar was simply too outrageous to believe.

"Down here, yo. And whatcha lookin' at?"

With a supreme effort, Rock managed – just barely – to tear his gaze away from the garish blue and yellow monstrosity that perched atop the speaker's head like an oversized rooster's comb.

There was no way he could have called it "good". But on the other hand, it certainly wasn't bad hair, not in the traditional sense: the man seemed to take pride in his outrageous style, and anyone with such a flamboyant hairdo was surely compelled to maintain its good condition.

By elimination, therefore, it was ugly.

"...you're Duck King?" he mumbled, forcing his unwilling jaw to return from its dropped position.

"Dat's right, man." The black man flashed him a grin. "And yo' Terry's student, huh? Rock Howard?"

"...yeah..." Rock replied almost mechanically, still horrified by the way the older man's predominantly yellow hair stuck out in awful contrast, juxtaposed against the elegance of the maroon uniform that all staff members of the Illusion Bar were required to wear. He noticed that it had the same effect on the other patrons of the establishment: most of them had already surreptitiously turned their heads away from the bar, trying their best to enjoy their drinks in spite of the eyesore that, coincidentally, happened to prepare the drinks. Even the twin waitresses, veterans of the industry, allowed themselves a grimace or two behind the co-owner's back.

Obviously, the man known as Duck King was oblivious to all this, as he continued, "Right, dude. King tol' me about you. An' any friend o' Terry's is a friend o' mine."

"Uh... that's nice," Rock muttered queasily. "I'll... just be going outside right now, okay?"

"Sure thing, man."

And that was how Rock Howard found himself standing outside the Illusion Bar, doing his duty and wondering what cruel fate had befallen him, that his boss should have become transformed from a handsome woman into a man with the worst hairstyle on this side of the Atlantic.

* * *

Dusk fell over the streets of Second Southtown, and a light went on in Kain's office, revealing the crimelord at his desk.

He sat before the lit screen of his computer, poring over countless spreadsheets, schematics and other plans in deep concentration. Everything had to be perfect – he would not risk making a single move in rashness, lest his scheme fall apart. In his philosophy, the weak were the ones who did things in desperation, simply because they had no other choice; the strong could afford to bide their time.

But at length, he had to look away, his eyes tiring from the relentless glare of the monitor. And as he did so, his weary eyes fell upon the sole accessory that adorned his desk, a faded photograph in a gilded frame.

They stood three abreast in that picture: Grant's hulking figure occupied much of the right side of the portrait, dwarfing the other two who stood beside him. It was the last time they'd seen his face – he'd donned the fiendish mask soon after, leaving him no other option but a road that was paved with pain and violence, and one that would surely end in his death.

He'd tried to talk Grant out of it, saying that it wasn't necessary to sacrifice his well-being for Marie's sake. But Grant – or Abel, as they'd known him in those days – would not be dissuaded, even though only those of the Heinlein blood could control the dark arts. While Kain would thrive under the influence of the power, Grant would end up trading his life's blood for strength beyond measure.

In the privacy of his office, Kain allowed himself a quiet sigh, remembering that short, fateful conversation.

_"You do know you'll be killing yourself, Abel, don't you? I've already lost Marie to that scum... I don't need to lose you as well."_

_A silent shrug, a laconic reply... and a death pact is signed._

_"It'll be worth it."_

_And for the last time, Grant smiles – the bitter, grim smile of the condemned._

He hadn't smiled in that photograph: the circumstances had not been conducive to the pursuit of levity.

Kain looked from the left side of the picture to the right, at the faded image of the woman who had been his sister. Before Geese had come into their lives, she had been the world to him; after Geese, she became nothing but another footnote in the annals of his life.

Or so he tried to convince himself. But every time he looked at that picture, he fancied that he saw the sadness behind that cryptic look of hers, the tears behind the frozen smile. He'd seen it then.

And he was never wrong with those things.

It was ironic. He'd found this photograph in Grant's possessions, shortly after the giant had finally been overwhelmed by the powers he'd wielded. And the two sides of the photograph were faded by age and exposure; of the three figures in the picture, only the central figure remained clear.

He'd lost Marie to a man's callousness, and Grant to the vengeance that would never be theirs... and what remained for himself?

He looked out of his window as the last remnants of the light faded away. Southtown was all that remained now; nothing but a pittance compared to what he had lost, but compensation nonetheless. And come hell or high water, he would see it remade as a memorial to the only two people who had counted as friends.

There was a knock on the door, a harsh rapping sound that brought Kain out of his recollections.

"Enter," he barked irritably.

The panicked underling who burst through the door was not a welcome sight. Kain eyed his dishevelled state with distaste, scowling as he remarked, "What is it now?"

"Mr. Heinlein..." the man gasped, trying to catch whatever breath he could, "Our warehouse along Second Street was attacked. Nothing was damaged, but..." He swallowed hard. "All our men there are dead."

The news came as a shock to Kain: he had not expected his property to suffer such an attack, and certainly not out of the blue. But he replied calmly, "And just _how_, pray tell, could anyone kill thirty men without anyone noticing?"

"That's the trouble, sir." The look on the henchman's face was one of pure terror. "Whoever did this managed to sneak in and kill every single one of them before they could raise the alarm. No one noticed until the next shift came around."

That ruled out an act by a rival gang: he had gone to great lengths to ensure their submission, and not a single gang remained beyond the range of his monitoring... and even if they had tried something as foolish as this, his men would have been more than capable of fending off any of their attempts.

Clearly, the attackers had more than enough skill to back up their audacity, and power to spare. This was not going to be child's play...

In an act of surprising coolness, Kain merely frowned as he shut the computer down.

"Very well. Get the car ready, and notify Mr. Futaba. This... warrants some investigating."

"Shall I call the police?"

"Not yet."

The underling dashed out of the office; Kain turned back and gave a final fleeting glance at the photo frame.

_Just wait a while longer. Vengeance will come soon enough._

* * *

Few people were crazy enough to stand outside in the cold October air for long, a fact for which Rock was grateful. And now that the last of the evening's customers were safely ensconced within the warm confines of the Illusion Bar, he stood outside in solitude and gazed at the night sky.

So far, life had settled into a steady routine, in spite of his shaky start when he'd struck out on his own. The job paid well – at least, reasonably well considering the circumstances – and most of the whispers about his history had died down. Within a year, he'd be just another man in the street: he'd be able to further his studies or move into a more secure line of work, and perhaps people wouldn't even notice the infamous name that headed the résumé. He'd finally have gained anonymity...

_...but is that what I really want?_

It was a rhetorical question, and his presence outside the door of the Illusion was answer enough. He liked the job – friends had helped him to obtain it when all his searches had proven futile, and it was a duty that he was familiar with... and yet, he knew that there was a darker reason to choose the role of a bouncer. Something within him perversely itched for an outcome that no sane man would choose: it sought confrontation, an excuse to fight. There was the ever-burning desire to lose himself in the bloodlust and the battle-frenzy, to simply escape from it all and drown his anxieties in red rivers.

And that, he knew, would be the day when he'd inherit the Howard name in full.

The nagging fear remained buried within the depths of his heart; he despised the truth that for all his efforts, he would never be able to escape the legacies that his father and uncle had left him. He was the heir to cursed blood and a violent pedigree, and there was nothing in the world that would take it away.

Rock shivered slightly in the chill of the night, and turned his head towards the distant silhouette of Heinlein Tower. At the very top floor, a light winked out.

He knew that it came from Kain's office, unless things had changed in the last three months. And if there was one thing that he knew about Southtown, it was that change was an exception, rather than the rule.

Kain was no exception: Rock knew that his uncle hadn't given up on his plan for the secession of Second Southtown. He hadn't been privy to the details – Kain himself was the only one who knew what he would do – but there was no doubt that the man was hell-bent on seeing his dream become a reality. He didn't blame the Sakazakis for leaving. To him, it was prudent of them to flee this town before the trouble started, and it was too much to hope that his sudden resignation had derailed his uncle's plans.

But what could he do? Any attempt to expose his uncle's plot would be to no avail; the idea was simply too fantastic to be believed. No sane person would believe a boy's half-crazed rants about the upheaval of the city, unless he had incontrovertible proof.

Proof was something Rock didn't have. And even if he could have proven it, his revelations would simply drag him back into the underworld, back to the legacy of his family... and there would be no escape this time. He would either be ruined by it, or he would inherit – the same end, in his estimation.

He never should have stayed in Southtown. But the city had a fatal hold on him; his birthplace and damned birthright were here, and he could not escape them any more than a moth could resist the candle's allure.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he turned his attention back to the street. Nobody was out tonight, and the surroundings were silent...

...but not for long. From the alley across the road came an all-too-familiar sound; his ears – or was it his soul? – recognised the strains of violence even at that distance.

It would have been considered unprofessional for a bouncer to leave his post, but Rock felt that the Illusion Bar could afford the temporary lack of security, even as he began to inch his way across the road towards the source of the noises. As he approached cautiously, the sounds resolved into distinguishable noises – he clearly heard the familiar thud of flesh against flesh, punctuating the heavy breathing and irregular movements of the combatants.

And then, there was an uncomfortable silence – the fighters had separated.

He couldn't see anything in the alley beyond shadows, but it was enough to tell him that there were six people in the fight. To his shock, it was not a fair fight – five of them stood with their backs towards him, standing against the lone figure at the other end of the alley.

The five were obviously street punks; as Rock sidled towards the alley, their rough speech became apparent. They weren't faring too well either, much to Rock's surprise. Their breathing was laboured, their figures slouched over in apparent pain and fatigue – sure signs that they were on the losing end of the fight.

Clearly, their opponent was an experienced one. Rock's view was blocked by the thugs, but he could make out the small frame of the person beyond them, standing in stark contrast to the looming figures of the hooligans. And from what he could tell, the fighter wasn't even tiring, in spite of the odds. But so far, not a single punk who had been taken out of the fight – a sign that Rock found disturbing.

_Foolish sentiment,_ he thought impulsively, before he could realise the callousness of such a frame of mind.

In a show of sheer bravado or stupidity – Rock was inclined to choose the latter option – one of the punks spat out a challenge.

"That's it. Now you're gonna pay." He stabbed a finger in the fighter's direction. "Get 'er!"

As one, the thugs raced down the alleyway, hoping to succeed in numbers where individual efforts had clearly failed. Rock started: he hadn't expected such a vicious move. Now somebody was going to get hurt – and even if the person in the blind alley didn't want to inflict pain, the hooligans surely did.

A part of him was loath to leave a fellow fighter facing such imbalanced odds. He began to dash towards the fight...

_...are you sure? Or are you doing this for the blood?_

"Shut up," he cursed under his breath, but the dark thought that suddenly popped into his head wouldn't let go. And in his fight to control his fears, he hesitated.

It was only a split second, but it was enough. The other combatant leapt nimbly forward, spinning effortlessly in a series of graceful motions that underplayed the power behind each stroke. As Rock ran in belatedly, a part of him noted with amazement at how the thugs seemed to simply fall away from the fighter as they were dispatched with surprising ease.

The deft, delicate moves must have distracted him, because an instant later, he found himself on the receiving end of a flip-kick that knocked him up into the air.

His first thought was that the kick was hardly devastating, even though it did put him in a vulnerable position. This was definitely a case of mistaken identity – he would recover from the blow, and then perhaps he could explain things...

...then he felt a weight come landing on his chest, and he was borne down to the ground with a painful crash.

His second thought was that the landing wasn't all that hard either – for a person who wielded such power, the fighter was rather light in weight. All he needed to do was to make the throw, and...

The wave of blue energy that blasted him at point-blank range was rather painful, though.

_Third time's the charm,_ he thought cynically before darkness overwhelmed him.

* * *

"He's dead."

"I can see that," muttered Kain sardonically. He stepped away from the henchman and towards Goto, who was eying another corpse silently.

The cool weather had mercifully slowed the decay of the bodies in the warehouse, but there was no removing the stench of death that pervaded the entire compound.

The twenty men had perished without a fight – that was clear enough, Kain surmised, from the way they'd died. Every single one of them had been killed the same way, their necks cleanly broken by a sharp blow to the base of the skull. Apart from that, there had been no signs of a struggle. To Kain, they looked as though they'd fallen asleep on the job.

_And if they'd done that, I'd have killed them myself._ He didn't mourn their passing; if they had allowed themselves to be caught off guard, they deserved to die. That was how the world worked.

He was familiar with such a method; he'd used it in the past and found it to be a hassle-free, if slightly boring, killing technique... assuming that the user had the strength to do it quickly.

_My men may have been stupid, but they certainly weren't weak by regular standards,_ he mused. _Therefore... our murderers seem to be men of tremendous physical strength._ He decided to get a second opinion.

"So, Mr. Futaba... what do you make of this?"

Without even acknowledging him, Goto replied tersely, "A professional job."

"That's it?" Kain was surprised by Goto's failure to comment. He walked over to the side of his right-hand man, reserving his judgement for future reference – an astute move, considering how the sight that greeted his eyes made everything clear.

Three slashes ran diagonally down this corpse's back, having torn through cloth and flesh indiscriminately.

_Well, this is interesting._ Aloud, Kain remarked, "A message for you, Mr. Futaba?"

Slowly and deliberately, Goto began to turn around. For a fleeting moment, Kain could sense the dangerous intent in his movements; he secretly relished the knowledge that his right-hand man had been disturbed from his ever-present calm. But deep down, he also wondered – a fleeting doubt that he refused to entertain any further – if he was capable of standing up to the master in his rage.

But the moment passed; the man's face turned towards him, remaining locked in its typical smile – a look that didn't fool Kain one bit.

"Perhaps... or it could be for you." His voice remained cool. "Who knows?"

"Of course. At least, we can be sure of the perpetrator's identity." Kain let the traces of a smirk play at the edges of his thin lips. "He is, I presume, a Japanese male, roughly about my age, skilled in the hard styles of Chinese Kung-Fu – as you are – and he will have similar marks to these on his back."

Goto's demeanour never changed one bit.

"You can dispense with the overacting, Mr. Heinlein," he mused, running his finger and thumb along his beard. "It looks like you've done your homework... what, have you been going through your tournament application forms again?"

Kain ignored the barb. "This attack was the work of an angry young man... nothing more," the crimelord noted confidently. "But I trust that you will keep your wayward son in line, Mr. Futaba? After all," he added in sarcasm as he glanced down at the corpse, "good help is so hard to find these days."

"He's mine." There was not even a hint of anger in the older man's voice, only a quiet neutrality that betrayed nothing.

Kain bowed mockingly, deferring to the martial artist in faux politeness. "Of course. I shall leave you to sort out your... domestic affairs. Just make sure they don't interfere with your work."

He turned away, ordering his men to begin the clean up operation. But Goto simply stood there, contemplating the body in silence.

None of the henchmen dared to disturb him.

* * *

When Rock regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was that he was seeing double. Then he realised it was just the waitresses.

"You know, Rock, you really shouldn't be playing around in the alleys at your age," one of them – Sally, he guessed, or was that Elizabeth? – said. The other simply passed him an iced cloth.

"Huh?"

"It's for your bloody nose," the other twin said, not intending it as a curse. Rock touched a finger to his nostril; it came back red. Gratefully, he pressed the cloth to his nose.

Against his better judgement, he sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings. Obviously, he was in the bar now; somebody must have found him in the alleyway and brought him back. He now found himself in an empty booth; his jacket and tie were lying on a chair at the far end of the bar, and his collar had been loosened – a welcome relief to the youth, who didn't fancy the idea of a tourniquet to the neck as a method of stopping nosebleeds.

There was the sound of irate customers being chased out of the door, followed by the familiar speech pattern of Duck King.

"Get outta here. We're closed!" He slammed the door and turned back from the entrance, wiping his brow. "Man, Rock. Yo' bad for business, and it's only my first day on da job, too."

"Sorry." He shook his head shamefacedly, although he wasn't sure whether it was due to his desertion or his negligence. "See, there was this fight..."

"Don' bother, man. We know da whole tale... ya reckless moron." Duck King laughed all too loudly, which only served to discomfit Rock further. "What would Terry say if he foun' out dat his boy got decked by a chick?"

Rock was nonplussed.

"What 'chick'?"

In response, the African-American flipped his thumb behind him.

"Dat chick."

Rock turned his head in the direction of Duck King's thumb, his eyes following in the direction of the pointed thumb... and, in his surprise, promptly dropped the cloth he had been holding.

"Here, let me help you with that."

Hotaru Futaba picked the bloody cloth off the floor and ran to wash it under the tap, leaving a stunned Rock looking on in surprise.

* * *

When she returned, Rock was still busy trying to find his tongue.

"Here you go." She handed him the cloth, which he pressed to his still-bleeding nose without a word. In a contrite voice, she continued, "Sorry about that. I thought you were one of them... I should have been more cautious."

"No, no," Rock hastily interjected. "I shouldn't have run in like that, really."

There was an awkward hush as he wondered what to say next, knowing full well that his mouth would probably refuse to say it anyway.

At length, he finally managed to force his jaw to work.

"...I never expected to see you here."

The blue-haired lass replied quietly, "Neither did I. It's a small world, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He scratched his head nervously, embarrassed by his proximity to her, and blurted out, "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

It had been an innocuous question, but its effect on the girl was unexpected: the kind look on Hotaru's face vanished, replaced by a troubled expression.

"My father taught me." Her voice was a low whisper, barely audible even in the quietness of the empty bar.

"...Okay." Rock noticed her altered expression and decided not to press the matter any further; he berated himself for having asked such an insensitive query, even though a part of him silently protested that he hadn't known in the first case.

The conversation died as the two of them fell silent once again, each preferring to watch the other wordlessly.

After an interminable wait, Rock finally removed the cloth from his nose, gratified to find that the bleeding had been stanched. He put the cloth away in his pocket, not wanting to dirty the table, and decided to make amends for his ill-timed question.

"I'm sorry I brought that up."

"No, I should be the one who's apologising. That was rude of me..."

"Look, you two, if you two don't get the apologies over and done with, we're going to be stuck here all night!"

An irate voice broke into the conversation; one of the waitresses walked over, glaring at Rock with mischievous ire. She jabbed Rock in the shoulder, continuing, "Well, since everyone's apologising, I'll join in as well. I'd like to apologise on Rock's behalf for his boneheaded behaviour: he's always like this when he talks to women."

Rock shrank into his seat in embarrassment, but Hotaru simply smiled and replied, "I know. Sorry for imposing on you all... I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

"Sally," the waitress replied. "That's my twin sister Elizabeth over there, and the guy with the horrible hair is Duck King, the co-owner of this bar." She winked at the girl. "It's nothing, really. You're welcome to stick around..."

"Yeah..." Duck King cut in, "so tell us: what's a nice girl like you doin' in a lousy – Ow!" He backed off, rubbing his sore head while Elizabeth stepped away from him and put down her tray.

Hotaru didn't notice the abortive pickup line. "Well, I was going back to my lodgings, and those men must have wanted my wallet." She tilted her head to the side and looked at the clock on the wall, adding, "Which reminds me, I really must get going soon. Thank you for your hospitality."

"No problem." The waitresses waved back.

She whistled a short, piercing note, and a small shadow darted from under a nearby table. Rock recognised it instantly; Hotaru had always kept her pet ferret by her side throughout the course of the Maximum Mayhem tournament. Now, it scurried up to its master's shoulder as she walked to the door.

Hotaru turned to Rock, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw the briefest flicker of sadness in her blue eyes.

"Sorry about that injury."

And he found himself staring at an empty hall, watching the door close slowly upon the night.

He remembered.

Three years ago, the boy with the guilty look and the girl with tears in her eyes had fought. The luck of the draw had decreed it – and that was how he had found himself facing off against her.

They were alike, in a way: they both chased after the elusive figures that haunted their dreams, the people who would bring some closure to the loose ends of their lives. He sought the mother of his youth, a memory lost in the shadows of his history; she looked for her brother – a man who could never have returned to his family. And on that day, one of them had to give up the chase.

He had won, of course, though he found the fight distasteful. But it had been a supreme irony that he, the victor, had to wait for three whole years before his mother had been found: she had met her brother as soon as the tournament had ended, though it had been a brief, bitter reunion.

He knew all this; he had witnessed it from a distance, courtesy of a pair of binoculars that he had borrowed from one of his new subordinates. It had been a strange consolation of sorts, he had thought, to know that at least one of them had found some answers.

So why were those eyes still sad?

He stood stock-still, staring woodenly at the entrance...

A pair of arms seized him, snatching him out of his recollections, and a voice hissed sharply into his ear, "Don't just stand there, you moron! Get out there and escort her back home!"

"Wha–­­"

"Look," another similar-sounding voice echoed from the other side. "Don't worry about us; we'll settle things over here. Now go!"

Rock's clothes were bundled into his unresponsive hands, and he was unceremoniously evicted from the bar in great haste.

Elizabeth watched the bouncer's departing figure with a sense of acute exasperation.

"Some guys just can't take a hint..."

Her twin concurred.

* * *

"Hey, wait up."

Hotaru turned, catching sight of Rock's flustered form as the youth ran towards her.

She didn't really know what to make of his sudden intrusion into her life – or more precisely, her intrusion into his. On the one hand, it was good to see someone she recognised, and all the more since he, more than anyone, knew what it was like to search without finding. But therein lay the problem. The young man's sudden appearance had caused her to remember; she was painfully reminded of her reason for being here, for returning to this town where she had found her brother... only to lose him once again.

Three years had changed a lot of things. Innocence had been tempered by the passing of each tear-stained year; she still retained her innate kindness and honesty, but her trusting nature now fought with the twin threats of fear and caution.

It was this last fact that made her respond with a guarded smile even as Rock finally caught up with her.

"Sorry. They told me to escort you back to your place..." he said apologetically, "...that is, if you don't mind."

Hotaru noticed his extreme self-consciousness – a trait which she found rather puzzling – and replied, "Thank you," hoping to reassure him. The ferret squeaked, as though echoing its master's words.

The tension never left Rock's face, but he matched his pace to hers as they walked down the deserted road. And for a while, there was no sound along the streets, save for the footfall of two pairs of feet.

They had covered a block's distance before he finally gathered enough courage to speak up, his tentative voice breaking the silence.

"I really didn't expect to see you here..."

"I know. You said that just now." And for the first time that night, Hotaru laughed.

It was not an unkind laugh; her laughter was a gentle giggle, one that held no trace of malice within it. But that didn't stop Rock from becoming utterly chagrined as he cursed his stupidity for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night.

Hotaru must have noticed his discomfort, because she continued, "You shouldn't torture yourself over these little things, you know. It's not worth it."

The words reassured Rock slightly, and he nodded in assent. "You're right," he agreed, grateful that the ice between them had finally been broken. "So... how have things been?"

Hotaru did not answer him. A smile appeared on her lips, tinged with the faintest hint of mourning, and she shook her head slowly as though she had not heard his query.

"Seriously... is something wrong?"

"Sorry?" She looked up abruptly, startling him just enough for her to catch the expression of genuine concern on his face.

The sight was as much as she could ever have hoped for. Now she finally had a chance to unburden herself of three years' worth of pain, solitude and fruitless searching; here was a person who knew what she could possibly have been going through.

"I... Well," she started, and paused in hesitation as she struggled to find the right words. But she had not told – not dared to tell – anyone of the truth behind her search until now, and to do so now would probably be more than either of them could bear; yet of the few people who would have been able to understand, only he remained.

And she knew that if she unloaded all her troubles to him, the weight would be too much for either of them to bear. He had mentioned his mother in their previous meeting, during the tournament; she remembered how his red eyes had lowered when he had spoken of her, and understood that his pain had been equally great – but also tainted with the guilt of the past.

"...nothing much, really," she demurred, deflecting the question. "I'm still looking for my brother."

"I see..." Rock's suspicions were confirmed: there could have been no other reason for her to return to this town. "Any luck?"

A shake of the head was the answer he received. "I haven't had the time. Ever since the tournament, I've been living off the inheritance my parents left behind, but it hasn't been much."

The news came as a surprise to Rock. "You mean they're both..."

"...dead?"

The reply burst out like a gunshot in the middle of the street, and for a moment, neither of them said a word or took another step. They simply stood there, letting the import of the word hit home.

"Yes." Her soft voice was amplified in the stillness of the night. "Mother died after my brother left, and Father..." She trailed off, unwilling to say any more.

"What happened?"

Hotaru tilted her head back, looking up into the sky, as though her memories were among the distant stars. "Father died a long time ago. But that's history by now." She began to walk again, Rock following shortly behind. "After the tournament, I went back to Japan. And I didn't want to waste my parents' money, so I took up a job as a housekeeper... and I eventually saved enough money to get here."

Rock was surprised by her quiet optimism – and thought it to be hopelessly misplaced. In his mind, he had a vision of her wandering aimlessly, searching the whole of Second Southtown for a man who wasn't there... A pang of pain entered his heart as he recalled his own years of futile labour in Kain's service, a barren time which brought forth nothing but ashes.

He didn't want her to waste her efforts; a part of him thought that the best thing to have done would have been to tell her to go back home... until he realised that she didn't have a home to return to. The only one whom she could have returned to was her brother – and so she had come to Second Southtown, pursuing a vain hope that couldn't possibly have been fulfilled.

If he could have helped her, he would have. _But how do you search for a man when you don't even know where to look?_

"So you think your brother's in Second Southtown?" Rock stowed his clothes under his arm and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, trying to remain nonchalant in spite of everything.

Hotaru's only answer was, "I know it."

They continued their walk towards Hotaru's flat without saying another word; Rock refused to reply, not wanting to dampen her hopes. But the lull didn't last for long.

"So... did you find out about your mother?"

Rock stopped in mid-stride and looked away, hoping that she hadn't noticed his ashen face.

The question was direct – Rock would not have expected otherwise from her. But the answer was not. More than anything, the last thing he wanted was to have to confront her with the unsavoury details of his recent life. He wondered how much she knew; she could not have known about his time in Kain's employ, and he had a feeling that she wasn't the type to listen to gossip. Still...

He replied bluntly – too bluntly, he realised – hoping to avoid any further questioning along those lines.

"She's dead."

With his back turned, he didn't notice Hotaru's almost-instinctive reaction; there was a light touch on his shoulder, and he flinched involuntarily even as he suppressed the urge to shrink away.

And then he heard her whisper, "I'm sorry."

Reality hit him, and he stood appalled as he recognised her innocence in the matter. She had not done anything to deserve such treatment – her question was only natural, and he had asked the same of her just moments ago. And he had answered her so tactlessly! A rush of blood went directly to his head, partly from self-loathing... and partly from something else.

The feeling of her hand on his shoulder had awakened something within his heart; a long-lost emotion reached him through her simple touch, one that he had been forced to put aside during the dark years. Under Kain's tutelage, it had been dismissed as a liability, and he now found himself struggling to understand this strange feeling that had suddenly reappeared.

It was sympathy.

Even in her sadness, she was still able to offer him consolation – something which, Rock realised, must have been all the harder for her to do in her loss. Her gentleness evoked a similar desire in him; he recognised the compassion that lay behind the gesture, and he wished he could have paid her back for her kindness. He would have gladly offered to help her in her search... if he only knew how. But his inability to do anything about it left him more despondent than when he had started the evening's duties.

He turned back to her, mumbling in a wretched voice, "It's not your fault."

The hand slipped off his shoulder, and they walked on.

* * *

"We're here."

Rock looked up from his grim shuffle, only to see Hotaru standing beside the steps that led to her apartment block.

He said nothing in reply.

"Thank you for escorting me back," she whispered, her voice subdued, and began to ascend the stairs slowly. He watched her through the gloomy daze that clouded his eyes; to him, it was as though his last chance to redeem himself was drifting away...

A flash of insight struck him, and he suddenly realised how he could help.

"Hotaru..."  
  
She stopped at the top of the stairs, her back towards him, and said nothing.

"I-if it's okay with you..." he stammered, "I'll help look for your brother."

There was no response; he began blurting out his words in desperate haste. "Terry lives on the edge of town – you remember him, right?" He panicked, wondering if she would walk away on him. "If anyone knows where to find your brother, he will. I could ask him..."

His words died off as he waited for her to say something – anything – that would break the silence.

Slowly, Hotaru turned around...

...and Rock caught a glimpse of tears under the light of the streetlamps. But she blinked, and they were gone instantly, leaving only a grateful smile on her lips.

"I'd like that very much."

* * *

Notes:

Firstly, I would like to apologise for the stereotypical depiction of Duck King, especially his accent. No offence is intended to anyone of African-American descent.

Liberties have been taken with character histories and characterisation: Rock probably wouldn't have let himself get knocked out in a single move, and Hotaru probably wouldn't be that pessimistic. But Gato – it's obviously him – did work for Geese Howard (in KOF 2003, goodness knows why the old man won't stay dead).

I blame Ramza Lionheart for the Rock/Hotaru angle – what can I say, "Swan Lake" was funny. A pity it got removed...

Remember when I said that the reason for including the Chinese reference would be explained in this chapter? I guess I was wrong. That part comes later... this chapter was getting too long.

To the readers: Thank you for all your support. Comments, corrections and constructive criticism will be accepted.

Edited 04/10: I have no idea whether the timelines are actually two separate ones. Until SNK-Playmore irons out the differences, I shall err on the side of caution and remove any reference to Gato's prior employment.

On the other hand, it has been noted that Robert returns, and I quote, "to Italy, where my old man awaits" in his ending in AOF3. Given the past inaccuracy of AOF2's translations (with reference to Eiji Kisaragi's nonexistent relationship with Mai Shiranui), and the general slapstick tone of the quotes therein, Robert's "Spanish" roots in AOF2 are beginning to look like a mistranslation. These changes shall be reflected in revisions of the past chapters.


	6. 05: Fathers and Sons

Blood

Chapter 5: Fathers and Sons

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

The basement was utterly silent, save for the slow sounds of a man's shallow breathing. And in the void, those sounds were the only hints that any living soul hid within the darkness...

_...if you can consider him alive,_ Kain thought, making his way down the stairs carefully. Only his hand on the rusty metal banister kept him from stumbling blindly down into the pitch-black unknown.

His initial impression of the man was that he was nothing but a freak; in this stagnant town where people merely existed instead of living, this murderer was the most extreme of them all – a creature that straddled the void between life and death. The foul being's very existence was an insult to Kain's nature.

And yet, such beasts still had their purposes. The Reaper would have his fair share of work before the end.

His foot touched the bare concrete floor, and he called out into the darkness.

"Come out where I can see you." There was an iron control in Kain's voice; lesser men would have fled by now, not caring to remain in Death's lair. But Second Southtown's kingpin of crime knew that he was the master here.

_This fool seeks blood as an end, not a means. What can he hope to achieve? Death holds only a shadow of might..._ and that, Kain decided, was what kept this man locked in the shadows, separating the two of them beyond reconciliation. True power lay in life and change – he himself would bring it to this town, and abominations such as this one would no longer have their place here.

But until then...

From out of the darkness, a gaunt figure stalked menacingly into the dim light from the open door. And from behind strands of limp, dishevelled red hair, a pair of sinister black eyes came to rest silently upon the crimelord.

He said not a word; his eyes told everything, boring into Kain with a soulless defiance as he stood there. And Kain matched his stare with a stark diffidence, unaffected in the least.

"I want you to deliver a message for me."

The thin man shifted slightly, and Kain could sense the hostility in every minute movement that he made. He watched the killer's hands clench, the pale fingers turning bone-white against the empty blackness of the dank basement – an act of futility. It was almost pathetic, watching this cadaver cling on to its claim to life. And what kind of life was it, wasted in the pursuit of death as it was?

And now, the corpselike figure who stood before him silently challenged his authority, an insolent glare staring out in barely-controlled resentment. Kain's thoughts rebelled at the thought of having to use such a foul creature – a part of him cried out, telling him to finish the deed that the police had been too incompetent to finish.

But in the end, practicality won out. The reckless man who had attacked his property needed to be put in his place; there was no way that Kain could have allowed his authority to be challenged, and certainly not in his town. A message needed to be delivered, to show that the massacre had been acknowledged – and also to let him know that any further assaults would not be tolerated. The rest would be left for Goto to deal with – his family affairs were his own business.

The reply would have to be writ large in order to get the subject's attention... and it would have to be returned in kind, a waste of life that Kain found rather distasteful.

After all, the murderer had his uses.

"Do it. You owe me your... existence." Kain picked his words carefully, not deigning to call it 'life'. The insult did not go unnoticed: the man stepped forward, his pale frame seeming to glow with a sickly aura; Kain easily recognised it as an unnatural hunger... a lust for slaughter.

"...you promised me a hunt."

The sibilant hiss of the man's words slipped out through bloodless lips, and a deathly chill settled on the nape of Kain's neck. But his reply was equally cool, his response measured; it was easy to satisfy the murderer's desires as long as they furthered his plans.

"And a hunt you shall have, Freeman. I believe this job will whet your appetite..."

And as Kain elaborated on the details, a demented rictus began to form on the killer's lips.

* * *

"Hello? Earth to Jae, do you copy?"

Dong Hwan stretched his hand over his outraged brother's shoulder and waved violently, vainly trying to attract his attention. It proved futile. When Jae Hoon was in one of his moods of "righteous rage", as Dong Hwan flippantly termed them, there was no stopping him – if injustice caught his eye, he was always determined to pursue it to the end, and no amount of persuasion could bring him out of that mood. In that respect, everyone agreed, he was almost a carbon copy of his father.

_Well, that's one part of the Kim heritage I'm glad not to have inherited,_ Dong Hwan thought in annoyance. Idly, he rubbed his fingers together, a look of sheer boredom on his face.

Slowly, the buzz of static began to invade the room, a low hum that gradually displaced the silence which had previously filled the room. Jae Hoon failed to notice it, his angry eyes fixed on the table before him, the furious expression remaining fixed on his face as though it had been branded on with a hot iron...

Dong Hwan gave a resigned sigh and jabbed his charged fingers into his brother's side, eliciting far more than a startled yelp.

The effect, he noted, was electric.

"What was that for?" groaned Jae Hoon from his sprawled position on the living room floor.

"I said, 'Where are Mom and Dad?'"

"Oh." There was a pained grunt as he righted himself back into a standing position; his voice still bore more than a hint of anger as he replied sullenly, "They're on the other side of town. Physiotherapy follow-up."

"That wasn't so hard, was it? Sheesh, what's eating you?" Dong Hwan peered over his brother's shoulder, trying to figure out what exactly had made him so furious.

The answer was obvious. Jae Hoon had opened the newspapers to a familiar-looking article; Dong Hwan had seen it that morning also, but he'd paid it no heed. The header read starkly: _Man found dead in alley_.

The article was pretty matter-of-fact, as far as Dong Hwan could see, and hardly worth getting all worked up over. The man, a security guard working at one of Kain's warehouses, had been found dead in an alley the previous day with a broken neck and deep knife wounds to his back. Police believed that the victim had been the target of a botched-up robbery, judging from the way he had been stripped of all his valuables before being dumped in the alleyway.

Dong Hwan stared at the article blankly, wondering why his brother had worked himself into such a rage. Sure, the guy's death was regrettable, but there simply wasn't any point in thinking too much about it. It wasn't as though they could do anything for him now.

"Oh. Whatever."

Jae Hoon whirled around violently, causing Dong Hwan to jump back in surprise. His brother's eyes blazed in rage as they shot a glare at him; he stared back with a perplexed look on his face, wondering if he'd said something wrong this time...

_"What did you say?"_

He had.

* * *

The thug known as Switchblade wandered through the maze of alleys in a sullen rage, handling the weapon for which he had been named. And it only served to make him even more irritated.

With his other hand, he rubbed the back of his neck in irritation, massaging the ugly bruise that had formed when he'd slammed into the wall. It hurt, of course. But what really frustrated him was the way in which five of them – _five,_ he noted in disbelief – had been crushed so easily by a mere girl. The humiliation had been too much to live down.

The others had run away to lick their wounds... for all he knew and cared, they were probably still groaning about the pain in some basement somewhere. But he wasn't one to keep still; no, there was an anger building up inside him that only worked itself up with every moment, and not even the pain of his throbbing head could keep him down.

And so, Switchblade stalked the alleys of the Korean district in an intense rage, looking for something – or someone – to vent his spleen on.

His wish was fulfilled quickly enough. A heap of rags and trash in the corner of the dark alley caught his eye; he saw the faint, rustling movements from within the pile – _probably some cat,_ he thought, but curiosity got the better of him.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness within the cul-de-sac, he faintly made out the figure of a man, his scrawny figure covered by a ragged assortment of cloth and old newspaper. Aside from the slight rise and fall of this "blanket", there was no other apparent movement from the vagrant – for all he knew, the man could have been lying there for several days.

The gooks wouldn't miss him.

A sadistic smile formed on Switchblade's lips as he took another step towards the inert figure. He nudged the body with his toe; there was no response. And now his foot drew back as he prepared, emboldened by the lack of resistance, for another kick...

A claw shot out from under the pile, sending him crashing jaw-first to the pavement. His world exploded; the intense burst of pain that shot through his skull almost knocked him senseless. Instead, he found his jaw flopping about uselessly even as he attempted to cry out in pain – it was a good moment before he realised that it had been dislocated from the impact.

That fact was soon driven into his pain-hazed mind as a white hand closed about his mouth, wrenching his jaw into an even more awkward angle. And he was aware of an almost ecstatic voice hissing into his ear, a perverse pleasure evident in the speaker's voice that sent panic into every fibre of his body.

"Don't worry... you can do all the screaming you want... later."

And as he lay sprawled on the ground, struggling futilely against his fate, he felt the touch of cold talons against his back, sharper than any blade he had ever known.

* * *

"...the problem with you, Dong Hwan, is that you just don't care!"

The target of Jae Hoon's rant simply yawned, having ignored most of the contents of the tirade for the last five minutes. He'd caught some snatches of it, of course – mainly the oft-repeated "justice", "defending the innocent", and "evil running loose in the streets" – and that was when he'd determined that Jae Hoon certainly took after their father when it came to giving longwinded speeches. He'd heard them all already.

It was just as well. For most of his life, he'd been working on finding a proper comeback to his father's lectures – _I may be lazy, but I certainly wouldn't take this lying down_ – and until recently, he thought he'd finally worked it out.

Then Freeman had struck.

It had been a year of agony for them: their mother had nearly gone into a nervous breakdown trying to cope with the loss, and even he would have confessed to spates of depression, however unlikely it would have appeared to others. And after their father had returned from his untimely disappearance, Dong Hwan had held his peace. It simply wasn't right to subject his family to more heartbreak, and a tacit understanding had developed between father and son: Kim Kaphwan would tone down on his lectures, and as a concession on his own part, Dong Hwan would try to curb some of the excesses that distressed his parents so.

That hadn't stopped Jae Hoon from taking his father's place – which was alright with Dong Hwan. After all, brothers were fair game. And so, he yawned insolently in his brother's face as he retorted, "And you, _little brother_, care too much."

The words stung as painfully as a slap to the face. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean, Jae, is that it's simply not worth it to run around this entire town smiting the ungodly." The elder brother rubbed his eyes deliberately, annoying Jae Hoon even further. "Firstly, there's no point getting yourself so worked up over something that can't be undone..."

"...but the killers will strike again!"

"Then leave it to the police! Southtown's finest are probably more than capable of dealing with these things... and anyway, what else can you do? You're just one person."

"But one person can make a difference," Jae Hoon replied self-righteously.

"Sure. And knowing you, you'd make a difference all right... the question is, what kind of difference? It's one thing to defend people you see getting victimised; it's another thing to get out on the streets and hunt down criminals like some caped crusader. Who knows, one day Mac the Knife might just sue you for aggravated assault." Dong Hwan snickered at the thought, an action which definitely annoyed the younger brother. "There's no point in dashing around and interfering with the due process of law. The police are paid for this kind of work, you know."

The look on Jae Hoon's face reflected a temper that was well beyond simple frustration: while he simply could not fathom the idea of simply ignoring the evil that had been done, his brother's arguments did seem to make sense. And the conflict between ideals and reality began to eat away at his perceptions of life in Southtown, leaving a lingering doubt that truly irritated him.

"Damn you, Dong Hwan!" he shouted in exasperation; he was well and truly angered by now, and didn't attempt to hide it. "If everyone in this town thought the way you did, where would we be by now?"

It was time for the clincher, Dong Hwan decided.

"Actually, Jae, if you'd look around town these days... everyone _does_."

* * *

His work completed, the murderer drew back for a moment to admire his masterpiece. At his feet lay his latest work, still in its death throes, flopping around aimlessly in a final desperate effort to cheat death.

He bent over and cradled the man's chin, a perverse expression of his affair with death, and pushed his jaw back into place with a sickening 'click'.

"Sing for me."

And as he stabbed his hand into Switchblade's chest, the gangster's last breath blossomed into a soul-rending scream.

* * *

The cry split the tense atmosphere wide open, completely disrupting Jae Hoon's planned rebuttal. Without a second thought, he had flung the door open and rushed out into the night – obviously to trace the sound to its source, in spite of Dong Hwan's misgivings.

"And he calls _me_ a hothead?" Still, he followed his brother out of the door, mostly out of curiosity, but there was a nagging feeling in his mind that simply wouldn't go away. _Must be my vestigial sense of responsibility,_ he thought, slowly walking down the road in the path that his brother had taken.

He was wrong.

Jae Hoon had abruptly stopped at the entrance of a deserted alley. As Dong Hwan approached, he noticed that his brother's face had turned pallid; and if there was one thing that Jae Hoon was not, it would have been 'easily shaken'. Something was amiss.

"What..." He walked up to his brother's side, being careful not to step in the dark puddle that had formed at the alley's mouth...

...and froze.

"Shit." It was all he could do to avoid gagging as he felt his insides lurch up from within him, threatening to spill from his mouth at any moment. He looked at his brother, who stared back with a horror that not even the years of discipline could have controlled. Neither of them needed to voice the thought that they shared: they had seen this before, and very recently too.

"Freeze!"

They whirled around simultaneously to face the speaker, a policeman – fresh out of training school, judging from the nervous way he pointed his gun at them. But in doing so, they revealed just what exactly lay in the alley...

The pistol clattered to the ground, and the sound of violent retching was heard over the phone call that Jae Hoon hastily made.

* * *

An assassin watched the empty streets below him, silently contemptuous of all he surveyed.

Three years of his life had passed – and there was no regaining them. He had traded off the vestigial remnants of his scruples, exchanging them for the strength of hatred and fury, and it was now time to settle the score with the man who had humiliated him at the Maximum Mayhem tournament... the very same man who had humiliated him all his life.

It had been no challenge for him to find his father; that day three years ago, the old man had thrown in his lot with the effeminate self-styled ruler of Second Southtown. What was his father thinking? Did the old fool really buy into Kain's empty promises, ones which he had no intention of fulfilling?

He snorted, dismissing the questions which had entered his thoughts. It was time to focus on the revenge he sought, and with the 'calling card' that he had left at the warehouse, the first shot had been fired in his war against his father. Now all he needed to do was to wait for the reply...

The scream reached his ears from one of the many alleys that he surveyed from his vantage point; it was clearly that of a man in his death throes. He stared into the dark network below and faintly made out a fleeing figure: obviously, the perpetrator was still in the vicinity.

_Well, this is interesting._

He leapt off the edge of the building in one fluid movement, landing on the ground in perfect silence, and began to stalk the shadow. With luck, one killer would lead him to another.

* * *

The murderer slunk away into the network of alleys, struggling against his desire to continue the killing. The two Koreans had made such easy targets – and he felt a twisted sense of loss at not having perfectly fulfilled his desires. He had failed to kill Kim Kaphwan once: when the time came, he would finally make a masterpiece of his family. First the father, then the sons...

Lost as he was in his demented thoughts, he failed to see the attack that was suddenly launched at him from out of the darkness. From out of nowhere, a fist rocketed straight into his torso, slamming him backwards into the wall.

"Looking for me?"

He recognised that voice, a distant, hazy memory from the days of the tournament, and instantly found consolation.

It was a wonderful sensation to feel the hatred and the vengeful spirit that emanated from the man; he relished the sensation, drawing it in as though it was life-sustaining air. Here, he knew, was another who appreciated the art of killing. In gleeful anticipation, he leapt up, ready for a duel on the edge of life and death – his home ground.

He struck out with his bloodstained fingers, slashing at his assailant. But his claws failed to score a hit; his assailant had already dodged the strike and was already in the air, ready to descend with a diving kick. Freeman saw it coming and slid aside...

"Too slow."

Even as he moved, he saw Gato's path change in mid-air. For all his efforts, he might as well have tried to dodge a guided missile: the foot crashed directly into his skull, sending him sliding across the ground in a perverted mixture of pleasure and pain.

He came to a stop at the end of the alleyway, and an undeniable instinct forced him back onto staggering feet. For Freeman, there was a call that drove him on to fight, and that call was death – either the opponent's...

...or his own.

* * *

Gato drew back his fist, disgusted with himself. The pathetic fool was annoyingly hard to kill... Not that it mattered anyway. After this strike, things would be settled. He drew his fist back, ready to deliver the killing blow.

"Get out of here, scumbag. This is my business now."

A voice called out from on high as he lunged forwards, and a dark figure plummeted from the rooftops, intercepting the attack with outstretched hands. And Gato suddenly found himself recoiling, knocked backwards by a simple shift of the interloper's weight even as the first shadow melted away reluctantly.

That move gave the intruder's identity away, and there was no longer any doubt in Gato's mind as to who this mysterious man was. His gamble had paid off.

"Well done, son." Goto Futaba's voice was coldly derisive in his appraisal. "I see you've decided to move into a better line of work... but trash disposal doesn't suit anyone bearing the Futaba name."

"Enough prattle, old man," came Gato's retort. "This ends tonight."

"Obviously, you've wasted three years neglecting your brain." Goto jabbed a finger back towards the street, where the police were beginning to cordon off the area. "It'll have to wait, you foolish boy."

His father's taunts were getting on his nerves, but Gato realised the truth in his words: it would be suicidal to start a fight here and now, with the police so close by. But there were still too many questions left unanswered, and they burned in his mind as he fought the urge to attack.

"What business do you have with Kain?" he growled, cursing his inability to act decisively.

"I could ask the same of you, considering the way you slaughtered his men," replied Goto, uncaringly, "but I think that's beside the point. What I do is my business – and you should stay out of it. Speaking of which... what are _you_ here for?" He folded his hands behind his back, almost daring his son to attack him by this act of arrogant complacency. "Are you back for a second shot at the job you screwed up three years ago... or is it something else?"

Gato grunted, almost in reluctant assent. "For that day in China... and everything else since then." The younger man's voice was filled with a festering rage, turned bitter by the years of shame and humiliation that had passed.

Goto's voice, on the other hand, came out mockingly. "Good. And I have some matters to settle over the way you have disgraced my name." He laughed evilly as his son's eyes focused on him in anger. "But until then... tough luck. We'll settle this later."

He turned his back on Gato, preparing to leave, but a final question stopped him in his tracks.

"Does she know?"

The words came out almost casually, but the import behind them was more than enough to make Goto turn back around. He faced his son, his eyes betraying no hint of emotion whatsoever. But Gato sensed his discomfort.

"How much does she know about us?" he asked again, driving his point home.

Goto shrugged. "Does it matter? As far as she's concerned, I'm dead. You, on the other hand..." The statement ended unfinished; each man knew exactly what the other was talking about, and there was no need for elaboration between the two of them.

It was some surprise to Goto, then, when his son shot back, "You should be worried, old man. She's back in town. And would you risk having the truth told to your beloved daughter?"

A troubled frown appeared on Goto's face for a split second, a rare show of emotion on his part; clearly, the news was disturbing. And his response was carefully neutral: "The same applies to you too, Gato. I'm not the only one who stands to lose."

"Of course." The anger in Gato's expression had been replaced by a smirk as he watched his father's discomfort. "So... when will you settle this? Or will you wait until I tell her everything?"

"Will she listen to you?"

With that last accusation, Goto turned swiftly and ascended to the rooftops before his son had a chance to answer. Gato did not bother chasing his father; he knew that any attempt to press the matter would be futile. The fight would have to wait.

Instead, he stared into the darkness until the sound of sirens reached his ears, and then made his own escape.

* * *

"We got here as quickly as we could when we heard the news," Kim mumbled to Sergeant Rian, both of them still shocked by the night's events. Myun didn't say a word as she ran straight to her sons, flinging her arms around them as her tears flowed in relief.

"Don't worry, we're fine," Dong Hwan remarked, trying to maintain the relaxed composure that had always been his trademark. But the tension that pervaded the entire police station would not go away – not after the night's gruesome discovery.

Jae Hoon put an arm around his weeping mother in silence, shaken to the core by what he had seen. And even as he tried to come to grips with the fact that a man had just been brutally tortured and murdered in their quiet neighbourhood, his analytical side began to consider two possibilities.

The man who had died the other day had been slashed in the back, while the body they had seen was cruelly mutilated – the most striking wounds having been on the gangster's back. Therefore, it was possible that the two men had been killed by the same person.

The conclusion was disturbing: it implied that a serial killer was now stalking Second Southtown, preying on anyone he or she met and slaughtering people without mercy. Jae Hoon clenched his fist, his blood boiling in anger. It fell to someone to protect the innocent, whether or not the people of Southtown cared or not. And he would fulfil that duty.

But at the same time, the other possibility reared its head. And that scenario, however remote, suggested that the night's carnage was the work of a hand which he had seen before... a ghastly white hand, as cold as the dead.

It was impossible. As far as they knew, Freeman was dead. And that was the trouble.

Jae Hoon would never forget the night when they had wheeled his father's body out from the abandoned building, bloodied, battered and mutilated beyond recognition. And the sight would remain etched in his memory as long as he lived: it was an image that he thought he would never see again... but he had seen it tonight.

Dead men didn't just get up and walk after having been shot by a sniper bullet. But Jae Hoon turned to look at his father, alive – in spite of a year's terrible indications to the contrary – and a pang of terror struck his heart.

If even murder victims could survive... then all bets were off when it came to the murderer. And the worried face of Kevin Rian only gave strength to Jae Hoon's fears.

* * *

Notes:

Apologies to all readers for the delay and general haphazardness of this chapter... but real life decided to rear its ugly head halfway through. Amendments may be made to this chapter in the near future, if the readers will kindly point out anything that needs fixing.

Yes, there still isn't any indication about what happened in China, but I think you people can guess. Not like it matters anyway. More details about the original event will appear in later chapters.

I never realised how closely "Goto" and "Gato" matched – "Goto" was a name I picked out of a Tom Clancy novel, and it proved to be my undoing during the confrontation scene. I'll probably cook up some back story about why the two are so similar, but until then, I'll just leave you all with the information that in Garou: MOTW, Gato's name is written in Kanji (unlike Hotaru's), and that the two characters that make up his name are "fang" (or "tooth"), and "knife". For all we know, it could even be a pseudonym... but the likelihood of that is open to debate.


	7. 06: Questions

Blood

Chapter 6: Questions

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

The kicks flew at Kim, a flurry of attacks that barely gave him time to defend against them all.

But the fact that he had blocked them at all was plainly apparent. And when he considered how his opponent was fully fit and half his age, a sense of disappointment ran through him. There was a distracted quality to the moves that did not escape his notice; it was as though the fighting spirit had departed from his opponent, forcing him to merely go through the motions of their fight.

It wasn't as though he blamed his opponent – he himself had been guilty of fighting half-heartedly, and his own mind was clearly on other things as he parried the blows. Given the circumstances, they could hardly have been faulted for their lack of enthusiasm.

But the one thing that a warrior had to learn was that when one stopped fighting, then nothing was left except to surrender... and that would be the end for them.

He dodged backwards and lashed out with a spinning kick, one that missed his sparring partner by a mere fraction of an inch.

_Terrible,_ he thought, _he should have seen that one coming._ Kim vaulted himself forwards as he spun in the air, performing a full turn that ended in a descending heel drop. His opponent barely even noticed it coming as he performed a somersault of his own, striking out upwards heedlessly.

The impact sent a shudder all the way up Kim's leg as their strikes clashed, and the first thing that he noticed was how poorly he took the blow. It had been a weak kick, and not intended to cause hurt, but it was enough to force Kim to one knee as he landed.

_I'm getting too old for this._ He massaged his sore foot, checking it for serious injury; finding none, he then raised his eyes towards his son. Jae Hoon was now sitting on the floor, his expression one of weariness, and there was the shadow of dark rings around his eyes.

"You're distracted."

"So are you."

The silence that followed the terse exchange explained more than the words within it; father and son both decided that it was better to leave their dreadful concerns unspoken. But that left an impasse that neither party was willing to break. The dreadful thought had become taboo; it was as though the very mention of the spectre's name would cause him to reappear from the alleys of Second Southtown.

Finally, Kim rose to his feet, returning into a fighting stance. And as he got up, he locked a determined stare onto his younger son, willing him to continue the fight.

"Concentrate, Jae Hoon. We can't afford to lose. Not again."

Jae Hoon got up slowly, replying to his father's admonition with a grim gaze – a look of pessimism and conviction intermingled. Somewhere behind those dark blue eyes, the spark of revenge was slowly rekindled.

"You're right." He slowly picked himself up, loosening muscles that had been all too tense from worry and anticipation.

And the gym was filled with the sounds of fighting once more.

* * *

"So, how's the new job?" Rock asked tentatively.

In response, Hotaru bowed her head in thanks, replying softly, "Mrs. Yardsley's a kind person. I really must thank you for helping me find work." She began walking down the sidewalk slowly, Itokatsu scurrying along behind her.

"It's nothing. Just don't tell her that I recommended you." Rock scratched his head nervously as he walked alongside, put off-balance by the sudden politeness. He mentioned nothing about the fact that the last time he'd seen his former secretary, it had ended in a particularly nasty altercation – none of it having been her fault, of course. She hadn't known anything about Kain's secret schemes; as far as she knew, she'd simply been working for another one of Second Southtown's established companies.

Of course, the circumstances surrounding his departure hadn't helped matters, and he made it a point to surreptitiously help her out in whatever way he could... without having to meet her face to face and explain why he'd left a burnt office and several heavily-injured men in his wake.

That was the kind of news that he would rather have kept from Hotaru – news of his unlawful employment would surely have cast a great shadow over the façade he presented. And deep down, he realised that he did not want her to turn away; she was his only chance for redemption, a last opportunity to make up for all the terrible things that he'd done.

But how long could he keep up this front? He knew he would falter someday. Everyone did. In spite of all his efforts to ignore it, he knew that the day would come when the truth would come to light, and his secrets would be open to all. And then they would all flee, and leave him alone in his misery. It was inevitable.

But still, he hoped to enjoy what short time had been allotted to him. And as far as he was concerned, if he could at least help Hotaru find her brother, it would count as a last moment of happiness before he was returned to his world of dejection.

_How selfish of you, that you should abuse her misfortunes just for the sake of assuaging your own conscience._

"No," he whispered, clenching his fist involuntarily as proof against the voice that had entered his head.

"Sorry?"

"Oh... nothing." Hotaru's gentle voice brought him back to reality, and he relaxed his grip at the sound of her words. "As I was saying, I'll take you to see Terry. He should know something about your brother."

"I don't know..." Hotaru's voice was tinged with doubt.

"Don't worry." In contrast to her tone, Rock's reply was confident – a mood that Hotaru had not seen him display since her arrival. "Terry knows Southtown like the back of his hand. If anyone knows where to find out about your brother, he will." He looked up, only to find that they had already arrived at his apartment. "Hang on. I'll get you a spare helmet."

With that, he rushed up the stairs hurriedly, leaving a bemused Hotaru in his wake. She, in turn, looked down at the ferret that lay cradled in her arms.

"He has to be here, Itokatsu. I know it." Her blue eyes turned towards the horizon, where the Philanthropy bell tower stood in the distance... and for a moment, there was nothing except the distant past and a memory that was better off forgotten.

* * *

"You're my brother, right?"

She met him on the edge of the woods with these words on her lips and anticipation in her eyes. But for Hotaru, there were only words of gall.

"You're getting on my nerves, brat!" Gato spat, looking down on her diminutive frame with cold eyes.

She stared back at him, not daring to believe the words he spoke. But she refused to be intimidated: she had come too far to simply leave empty-handed now. And so, she faced him now, pouring out all the hurt that had accumulated in her eternity of searching, her words an incoherent plea for him to acknowledge himself.

"Big brother! Why? Why did you leave?" She was on the verge of breaking down, her heart torn apart by the bitter memories of what she had witnessed – and what her brother had missed. "Mother died, you know!"

Gato took a sudden step towards her, his figure suddenly looming over her in menace.

"Enough!" He bared his teeth, scowling in anger: her words had obviously touched a nerve. But that was nothing compared to the pain that Hotaru felt.

All the years of misery and loneliness that their mother had endured, wasting away as she grieved for a dead husband and a missing son; all the sorrow that she herself had gone through as she watched her mother pass away under a cloud of grief... all this, and still he refused to acknowledge himself. It was too much to take...

The sound of the slap echoed through the air; Gato flinched, more from shock than from the pain of the blow, and turned his face away.

The sheer impudence of such an action was unfathomable – the girl must have been hell-bent on suicide to even attempt such a thing. But Hotaru was beyond caring by now, all thoughts of her own safety driven from her heart.

"You jerk! Jerk! Jerk! Jerk!"

Her eyes were now blurred by weeping, her voice cracking as she screamed at Gato in violent frustration. But he simply stood there, his face a blank slate as she continued her tearful tirade. "I don't know what went on... that fateful day. But... but we... we're family!"

Family. That was a word that he hadn't heard in a while.

"...same as always."

"Huh? What was that?" She wiped the tears from her eyes in confusion, not daring to believe what he had said. But the words were lost by now.

"This isn't the place. I won't kill today. But next time..."

"Big brother!"

He didn't acknowledge her cry. And as he walked away, all she could do was to watch his departing image, so similar to the sight she had seen many years ago, and ponder his final words.

"Someday... for sure..."

But it was enough.

* * *

It had taken her the better part of three years to understand what he had meant. And when she had finally realised the truth, she wished she had not known – it was a terrible thing that she had uncovered.

But, killer or not, he was still her brother, and the only family she had left.

"I have to find him..."

"Hotaru?"

She spun around to face Rock, who stood waiting with a helmet in each hand. "Here you go."

"Thanks." She put the helmet on, mildly unnerved by the stifling feeling it gave her, and faintly heard Rock's muted gasp of amusement. And just as quickly, she raised the visor and gave him a perturbed look, wondering just _what_ was so funny.

"Sorry about that, Hotaru." Rock swung into the seat, remarking, "The sight of you in a safety helmet is just... well..."

"Wrong?" she giggled. She wasn't in the least offended; on the contrary, it had been just the thing to lift her faltering spirits. And she was especially grateful to Rock for having offered his aid at a time when she needed it most, even if she knew that the answers she sought would lead her into disaster.

"Yeah. Come on, Terry's waiting." He put on his own helmet and gestured for her to board...

...and she obliged, sliding in behind him and slipping her arms around his waist.

The touch made Rock flinch as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly glad that the helmet obscured the nervous look on his face.

"Sorry, is something wrong?" Hotaru's voice was barely audible over the sound of the blood pulsing in his temples, but the way her hands relaxed their hold was enough for him to regain a small fragment of his composure.

"N-n-no, not really," he stuttered. "I'm just ticklish." And that was true, to a certain extent – at least where his current situation was concerned. There had been something... awkward... about the arrangement, and it didn't take a genius to figure out just what it was.

_Relax, Rock,_ he convinced himself, _she's just another passenger. You've had pillion riders aboard before, haven't you?_

And just as quickly, another thought came into his mind. _Yeah, but not a _female_ passenger!_

He swallowed hard. "R-ready?"

Itokatsu slipped into the saddlebag that hung from the side of the bike and squeaked.

"Ready," came Hotaru's muffled reply, and he felt the grip around his waist tighten, stretching his control to the limit as he fought desperately to keep from freaking out. Quickly, he gunned the engine to life and began what seemed like an infinitely long drive to the mainland, a mantra hammering away between his ears.

_I will not panic. I will not panic._

* * *

"Come in."

Goto entered Kain's office, his face still locked in its ever-present smile. But the crime boss knew better than to assume that everything had went well; indeed, as his right-hand man approached, he recognised the slightest hint of annoyance that hid itself behind moustached lips.

It was the assassin who spoke up first, commenting almost offhandedly, "Freeman gave me the slip."

_Well, that's pretty frank of him._ Not that it mattered: like a bad penny, Freeman would turn up sooner or later, and it always helped to maintain a decent level of fear in the population... especially when his plan was on the verge of execution. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried. Incidentally, our target took the bait." But there was no enthusiasm in Goto's voice – the man had trained himself in the art of concealing his emotions, but Kain was a master at uncovering them. And his ears picked up the faint tinge of apprehension that not even decades of training could have concealed. Obviously, Goto was troubled enough to let it slip.

Kain didn't know whether to be pleased or not: his subordinate's discomfiture was useful as a tool to keep him in check, but distraction was never a good thing. "So... he told you something, didn't he?"

Goto turned to face the window, his broad back forming a wall between them. "He's not after you, Kain."

_So, we're on a first-name basis now, eh? That can't be good._ "I trust that you are fully capable of handling your own affairs, then."

The older man said nothing.

* * *

To Rock's chagrin, it wasn't Terry who stood in the doorway of the house.

"Hi, Rock. Terry's in the back..." Blue Mary cocked a wry eyebrow at him. "Your knees are shaking."

"Rough ride."

"I'll bet." She flashed him a mischievous grin as she noticed his companion. "And you're...?"

"Hotaru Futaba. I don't believe we've met before." The girl bowed low in greeting.

"Ah, Terry mentioned you. The name's Mary Ryan, but most people know me as 'Blue Mary'. Come on in, then." Mary left the door open, admitting the two of them into the house – until Rock rushed ahead, dragging her by the arm and towards an adjoining room.

"Hang on a sec, okay? Mary and I have something to... discuss."

The grip lasted only until the door slammed shut. Mary suddenly shrugged herself loose, and in a flash, she had shifted behind Rock and put him into an excruciating arm lock. His back arched in pain as an irate voice hissed, "Okay, what was that all about?"

Rock was more or less used to pain by now, but Blue Mary hadn't come by her infamous reputation by being gentle. "How much did Terry tell you – URK!" He stifled a cry as the petite woman worked his forearm upwards, causing pain wholly disproportionate to her size. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Let go!"

The hold was released, and Rock winced as he flexed his arm, trying to get his blood flowing again. He grumbled, "Sheesh, I thought I told Terry to keep it quiet."

"Right," the blonde woman remarked sardonically. "And what happens to married couples who keep secrets?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, this stays between the few of us. Anyway, Terry may be the one who knows fighters from all around the world, but you're better off asking a policewoman if you need to chase down an assassin." She opened the door as they walked back into the living room.

A familiar voice spoke up from the other end of the room. "Hey there, Rock. How's life?" The Legendary Wolf lounged back on the sofa, now looking far less than legendary in a faded T-shirt and shorts.

"Okay, I guess." Rock folded his hands behind his back, pacing across the room. "Where's Hotaru?"

Terry jabbed his finger towards the kitchen. "She's fast, isn't she?"

Rock looked over, only to find that Blue Mary had, indeed, already started an 'interrogation' at the kitchen table. Fortunately, he noted, at least one of his early misgivings had been unfounded; Hotaru seemed to have taken an instant liking towards the woman, and the two were already building up a steady stream of conversation.

"Like you're one to talk, you slacker," he muttered good-naturedly. "Any luck so far?"

"Nope." Terry sat upright, folding his hands in his lap as he leant forwards. "I've looked through the public reports on all the fighting tournaments ever since Maximum Mayhem, and the man we know as 'Gato' hasn't turned up in a single one of them. Martial artists tend to do that – heck, you know I've done it at least twice before." He noted the crestfallen look on Rock's face, and continued, "It could mean anything, of course. He could be off training for some private vendetta, or he could have dropped out of the fighting world altogether. Or perhaps he's in the employ of some secret organisation. For all we know, he might even be de-" He checked himself and continued, "Well, you get the idea."

"So there's no telling where he might be?"

"Well... there is one last option," Terry admitted, "but I'll have to get your friend's permission. It's going to involve some other people."

"I notice you didn't ask when you decided to tell Mary about it..." Rock replied sourly.

"Nah. She's different." Terry got up from his seat and sauntered into the kitchen, where Blue Mary and Hotaru seemed to be hitting it off particularly well. "So, how's everything, Hotaru?"

"Thanks for your help, Mr. Bogard."

"No problem," began Terry, before Mary cut him off with a dissatisfied snort. Rock had to suppress a chuckle at that – evidently, the Wolf was whipped.

"Okay, so it was a little bit of a problem. Happy now?" Terry muttered, feeling slightly disgruntled, and decided to cut to the chase. "Anyway, I'm gonna call for some backup on this..."

"Now, hold it right there, Terry." Before Hotaru had the time to say anything, Mary cut in quickly with an interjection. "Who?"

Terry shrugged. "Well... I was going to ask Andy to help me out."

"Who?" It was Hotaru who repeated the question, feeling more bewildered than ever. Mary, on the other hand, looked far more relaxed.

"You mean Rock never told you? Andy happens to be Terry's brother... and let's just say that his in-laws are really, really good at tracking people down and keeping quiet about it."

"Oh... Okay."

* * *

On the other side of the world, a phone rang in the Shiranui ancestral village, shattering the silence that had, until now, ruled the night.

Before the phone could ring another time, a distinctly Caucasian hand shot out of the darkness, snatching up the receiver deftly. "Yes?"

"Hey, Andy!"

With his free hand, Andy Bogard smacked himself on the forehead in disgust. "Do you have any idea what time it is over here, Terry?"

"Hey, it's not like you're unused to getting up in the middle of the night, anyway." There was the faint sound of a chuckle on the other end of the line. "Anyway, I have a favour to ask of you."

"Please tell me it doesn't involve saving the world again," he grumbled. "We left that to the younger generation, remember?"

Another chuckle. "No, nothing as bad as that. But we need some help in finding a man... He goes by the name of Gato."

"Sounds familiar. Hokutomaru mentioned somebody by that name..." Andy trailed off, trying to recall all the details that had been mentioned in his student's report on the Maximum Mayhem tournament. "He did mention a girl who was looking for her brother. Is that brother the man we're talking about?"

"Yep."

"Right. I'm always willing to help a damsel in distress." He yawned lightly. "I'll dig up our clan's recent records and see what we've got on him. You're in luck: I know Hokutomaru was the one who pegged him down as a 'highly suspicious' character, so one of our guys should have been tracking him... I'll get the information in as soon as I can."

A pair of arms suddenly draped themselves around Andy's neck, and he found the seductive voice of Mai Shiranui whispering jealously in his ear, "So, what was all that about a damsel in distress?"

_Geez__ Five years of marriage, and she still knows how to make me feel really uncomfortable._ Andy squirmed slightly, mumbling, "Terry's asked me to help some girl find her brother... Come on, Mai. It's work."

"I know. I heard everything." She pressed herself closer to his back, her hand drawing the receiver away. "Hey, Terry."

"Oh hi, Mai. How are the kids?"

"They're sleeping..." she replied, "something which my stupid workaholic husband should be doing by now." She shot Andy a glare as he tried to get a word in edgewise. "Don't complain, Andy. We both know that you'd end up wasting the entire night trying to get the job done, and end up with nothing but empty hands and red eyes to show for it. You work better in the morning anyway." Turning her head back to the receiver, she continued, "We'd love to help, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow morning. You know how Andy is."

"Sure, no problem," assured Terry. "Thanks."

A hand covered Andy's upraised one, gently guiding it back to the cradle, and all Terry heard on the line from Japan was a muffled 'click'.

"You know, Mai..." Andy was slightly miffed by her interference. "If you're planning what I think you're planning, it's not as though I'm going to get any sleep anyway."

Mai's smile widened in a suggestive fashion as she slowly guided him back to their bedroom.

"Sure... but if you're going to lose sleep, you might as well waste it doing something productive."

* * *

Terry gave the others a thumbs-up as he hung up the phone. "Okay, Andy and Mai agreed to help us out." He walked over to Rock, who had been watching the proceedings with scant interest. "I think we'd better give them a little privacy. Anyway, there's something we need to discuss." He gestured in the direction of the front porch.

"Oh, really?" The look on Rock's face was sceptical, but he followed Terry out anyway, leaving the two women in the kitchen.

Hotaru watched them leave with some apprehension, wondering about the sudden turn her search had taken. It had started so simply too – she hadn't intended to trouble all these people with her own problems, not by drawing them into the mess that her family had created... and then, there was the truth.

She wondered how much they would uncover, how deeply they would dig into her family's past. And she knew that whatever they found would not be good: her heart told her that if she found her brother once again, it would only lead to more pain. It would have been much easier to ignore it, to forget everything that had happened... Now, old wounds were reopened, and she had to find him.

But what right did she have to force her family's troubles upon these people?

"Don't worry," Mary's voice broke in – she had recognised the look of worry in the girl's expression. "We'll find him... but you have to help us. Now..."

She leant forwards, intent on hearing Hotaru's tale.

"...why don't you tell me about your family?"

* * *

Notes:

Updates to this fic will be sporadic, depending on how frequently real life and procrastination get in the way. But rest assured, I will keep working on it.

Yes, standards have fallen. I apologise for any inconvenience caused.


	8. 07: Confessions

Blood

Chapter 7: Confessions

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

Kevin Rian was on duty – a typical day's work, as far as he was concerned. But no matter how hard he tried, the sensation of uneasiness that plagued him could not be shaken off.

The sun was low in the sky, heralding the onset of night, and people were already returning back to their homes at the end of their day. But for Second Southtown's finest, the day didn't end at five... and the hardest part of the patrol began when the sun set.

The two murders had shaken this town, but in Second Southtown, even the greatest shocks were easily reduced to nothing but ripples on the water's surface. The people had probably forgotten about the whole deal by now – or, if they remembered, they thought it wouldn't happen to them. Only the men in blue cared... and that was why they were on patrol now, watching over the oblivious.

He knew, through an instinct of his, that Freeman – missing, presumed dead – was responsible for at least one of the killings: the sheer amount of blood that had been spilt was proof enough. And of course, he cursed that the killer, somehow, had survived the bullet meant to end the nights of terror. But he still couldn't shake the thought of another hand that may or may not have worked behind the scenes... an iron fist.

The sergeant looked about tiredly, hoping that his longstanding prejudices wouldn't get in the way of his work. It simply didn't do for an honest policeman to dream up conspiracy theories on the job.

* * *

_I was born in the summer of 1990 – a surprise to my parents, who didn't expect another child after ten years. Maybe that's why they favoured me. I know that my brother certainly didn't mind the lack of attention: he's always been the loner that we know today._

_We were reasonably well off as a family: Father had a reasonably well-paying job, but it required him to go overseas for extended periods of time. As a result, we didn't really see much of him when we were young. That left our mother to look after the two of us. If there was one memory I would single out as having been a particularly good one, it would be the one where the three of us were playing together in the front yard. Brother would always be the reluctant one, standing aside with a look that read of complete disinterest, but even he would have to oblige me sooner or later._

_I suppose that was the only normal thing about our family life. Everything else was a mess – at least, that's how it seemed as I got older._

_Father... I don't know what to say about him. Mother always told me that Father worked hard to support our family, but even she didn't know much about his job. All we knew was that he worked somewhere in __China__ – and that when he was gone, it was practically impossible to contact him. Mother once confided to me that she actually thought he was having an affair, but there was no basis for her suspicions. Anyway, Father was devoted to her, and she to him... for a time. But the fact that he was never around for long was certainly a problem in our family – a problem that manifested itself most obviously in my brother._

_Brother was, as Terry and Rock probably know from experience, moody, rebellious and prone to moments of ill-temper. Most of all, though, he despised Father – that's what Mother told me, although she could never give a reason for such resentment. Maybe he didn't like the way Father was never around. Or maybe it's just natural for sons to be closer to their mothers. Whatever the case, Father definitely bore the brunt of Brother's anger, which he did reasonably well._

_Mother was the intermediary between the two of them. As far as I know, she was the one reason why they never went at each other's throats in the house: both of them loved her. So did I. And she deserved every single bit of love that we gave her, too. She was an angel..._

"Are you okay?"

_...I'll be fine._

_Anyway, not even she could mend the rift between father and son, and things came to a head when I turned eleven._

_

* * *

_

"Well?"

They stood on the porch, staring out into the afternoon sun. Rock shielded his eyes against the glare with an upraised hand as he waited for a reply.

Terry leant against a post lazily. "So, how's life?"

"Everything's fine. I never did get a chance to thank you for recommending me to the Sakazakis."

"Don't mention it. I hear they're in France right now."

Red eyes narrowed in suspicion as Rock noticed the hidden barb in his mentor's statement. "And a friend of yours has taken over the management of the Illusion Bar," he shot back in annoyance. "So?"

"Oh, nothing." Terry let a smile play along his lips. "Just wondering about how my hometown was doing."

Rock frowned. "Cut it out, Terry. If you're trying to tell me that something is rotten in the state of Southtown, I don't need you to remind me." He turned back towards the house. "And what are you doing? Living on the outskirts of town, like some hermit or recluse... it's just not like you to give up on the town like that."

It was Terry's turn to look displeased, but he managed to shrug the accusation off with little more than a shake of his head. "Let's just say that local sentiment has never really been on the side of heroes."

"Yeah, yeah. 'Don't rock the boat, don't upset the status quo,' whatever." Rock rolled his eyes derisively. He was all too familiar with the reception that Terry and the Lonely Wolves had received after each King of Fighters tournament: the pugilists were feted on their return, certainly, but they were forgotten just as rapidly. The fact that those fighters had played a part in saving the world from certain ruin was lost on the townsfolk, who had better things to do with their time than wonder about how close they'd been to obliteration.

The truth, of course, was always covered up. There was no mention in the newspapers of vengeful gods, scrolls of immortality, or secret cabals plotting to take over the world – such spurious tales were certainly not fit for respectable publications. And so, an entire town, unmindful of the deeds of its heroes, had slowly fallen asleep under the spell of its own crimelords, who were more than happy to scheme away in peace.

"He's a tricky one, your uncle," remarked Terry, his blond fringe of hair hanging limply over his eyes. "He's far more low-key than any of the others before him – and there isn't anyone alive who would dare to testify, for all the good it would do them." He didn't think it necessary to mention the fate of anyone who had tried.

"Your point?" Terry had gotten under Rock's skin with the mention of Kain, and the young man wasn't afraid to show it.

"Let's face it, Rock: we're fighters, and that's what we're good at. And he simply isn't playing our game anymore." Terry stood up straight and began to pace slowly around the front porch. "Ever since he suppressed all the other gangs in town, things have been really quiet. No show of force, no illegal activities, nothing the police can pin on him. As for us... we know that his intentions aren't good, but we can't do anything about it."

"Right."

Terry continued his tirade, "And in the meantime, he sets himself up as a captain of industry, carefully suppressing all information of his past misdeeds while charming the people with his smooth talk. He pulled it off. In fact, I've heard it said that the townsfolk would vote him in as Mayor if he ever ran for the post, crime boss or not, simply because he's brought more stability to the town than anyone else has." There was a sigh of resignation from the man. "I think we may be the only ones with any inkling of what he's really up to."

"Perhaps," muttered Rock noncommittally.

The footsteps stopped, and Terry raised his head. "The point is, Rock... Kain has to be stopped before he does anything. And only one person outside of his organisation has the information required to take him down."

Rock flinched.

* * *

_I was still quite naïve at the time, so I didn't understand half of what was going on; Mother had to fill in the gaps for me as I grew older. It hurt her to tell the true story of what happened that day – I could see it in her tear-filled eyes when I asked her, and knew it was a mistake – but she told me anyway, and this is how I remember it._

_I was eleven, so that made Brother about... twenty-one at the time. And as always, he was on Father's case. According to Mother, the dispute was over work this time: it seems that Brother wanted to move out and start working, but Father wouldn't let him._

_On hindsight, I should have known that Mother wasn't telling the whole truth – the story was simply too absurd for anyone but a child to believe. Perhaps that was why I fell for it hook, line and sinker. Or was Mother inventing the lie for her own benefit? There are some things that we can't see, and others that we simply choose not to._

_At the time, I knew nothing. All I remember was seeing Brother's suitcases in the doorway. Mother stood in the doorway as Father and Brother exchanged blows, pleading with them to stop, while I cringed behind her skirts and closed my eyes every time one of them landed a hit. I could hear her voice, straining above the sounds of violence as they 'debated' it with fists and feet._

_It was a good two years before I realised that our family's fights were probably far more violent than the spats other families had._

_I opened my eyes after the sounds faded away. Brother was on the ground, wiping the blood that had flowed from his brow into his eyes – I don't remember any tears. And Father had his back turned, not even looking at him; his gaze was focused firmly on us, as though daring us to come to Brother's aid. Naturally, we didn't try anything._

_Father's only words were, "Leave, then."_

_I recall watching Brother scramble to his feet and drag his cases down the street, his last look a glare of utter hatred. Mother didn't say anything, but the warmth of her tears on my hair is what I remember more vividly than anything else._

_And it was three years before we saw Brother again._

_

* * *

_

Rock slowly shook his head in disbelief.

"You're kidding. Mary put you up to this, didn't she?" His eyes shot daggers at Terry, who regarded the youth almost resignedly.

"I expected that response." He leant back against the post once again, and closed his eyes. "No, it's my own doing. I hope you don't think I'm trying to force you into doing anything against your will –"

"Of course not." Rock's tone was suitably regretful, and laced with sorrow. "Look, Terry. You were the father I never had; I'm grateful for all you've done for me, and I know I owe you a huge debt for getting me out of the gutter. But this... I don't know anything about what Kain's doing."

Terry didn't speak for a while, and it was some time before he finally opened his eyes.

"You're not fooling anyone. You're worried about your good name, right?"

The guilty silence that seemed to emanate from Rock confirmed Terry's guess, and he continued, "I know. You're trying to escape your past by ignoring it, burying it someplace where nobody – not even yourself – will remember what had happened. And you think that by covering up your history, people will just get over it and allow you to move on with your life, right?"

The Wolf's eyes were bright now, locking on to Rock's face as he moved in for the kill. "After all, Southtown's a pretty forgiving city as far as they come. And that's why you chose to remain here, even though you were in such close proximity to Kain: there's something about this town that makes it so easy for people to forget everything and just live out their mundane lives."

Rock thought he sensed more than a little disenchantment in Terry's voice. "Getting a little old and cranky, are you?" he sneered, trying unsuccessfully to hide the fact that Terry had hit home with his guess.

"Maybe, maybe not." Terry acknowledged the jab, but his face was grim. "Seriously, Rock... as long as Kain remains in power, there's no way any of us will be able to rest easy. You know that."

"Of course, but..."

He knew he was in a quandary. There was no love lost between Kain and himself, of course, but he knew that exposing Kain's misdeeds would bring another dossier of past exploits into the open... his own. And he wasn't sure if the risk was one he wanted to take.

He knew, of course, that there were precious few people who actually knew about what he'd done in those times, and they didn't condemn him for it. But if he revealed the truth, he would have to testify... and then everything would be dragged out for the media vultures to feast upon: his dirty work as Kain's enforcer, his association – by blood! – to two of Second Southtown's most infamous mafia bosses, and even his heritage as "a violent, unstable individual"... He could see the headlines now. All who came by him would pass judgement and damn him to eternal shame even if he wasn't charged; he would never be able to hold his head up in front of others ever again. The whispers and murmurs, the wary glances that people gave him as they walked away... it would all happen again, and he didn't want to return back to that life of suspicion again.

And then, there was her...

He stole a glance at the closed front door, wondering just how she would react if she ever found out.

_

* * *

_

"Are you up to this? We can do it another time, if you're tired..."

_Let's continue._

_Mother was most affected by my brother's departure – I was still unaware of the true extent of their falling out, and Father... if he even cared, he didn't show it. And therefore, the family's grief fell onto her shoulders alone._

_To this day, I still don't know how she managed to endure it all that while. It was hard enough for me, even if I was still under the illusion that Brother was merely away for a short time, still blocking out the bad memories of that terrible day and pretending that their conflict had been only a nightmare. But for her... she was torn between Father and Brother, and she wasn't willing to take sides. If anything, she still hung on to the hope that Brother would return one day, even though her hopes grew more and more distant by the day._

_I grew up hearing her constant pleas to Father to reconcile with his wayward son, only to be rebuffed by his refusal to answer. It was terrible. They never fought with each other, not to my face; instead, their silent exchanges were more violent than any quarrel that I could have witnessed. They began to grow apart steadily, even though they tried to keep everything calm on the surface – but I wasn't fooled. They were spending less time together, as though they couldn't bear the sight of each other at times._

_I didn't hate Father for what he did; I didn't know, in fact, what had started the whole fight in the first case. Perhaps, in my foolish mind, I was still convinced that my brother was doing what he wanted, and that he was happy doing what he did, even if he never wrote back to tell us how he was doing._

_Father may not have cared much about his son's whereabouts, but he surely noticed the rift in our family when Brother left. He started coming back more often, spending more time with us... as if it could somehow heal the gaping wound that he had inflicted. It was thanks to him that I learnt the martial arts that would eventually take me to the tournament in Southtown._

"That would be Kain's Maximum Mayhem Tournament, right?"

_Yes. Father seemed to put a lot of emphasis on my training, for reasons unknown. He once told me that it instilled discipline in people; unconsciously, I wondered if he had spared Brother a thought when he spoke._

_Perhaps I have demonised my father in this deposition. He was not the heartless, uncaring man that I may have – inadvertently – portrayed him as: he loved Mother, and he cared for me very well. All things considered, he was a good father, strict yet tender in his discipline, and I have no doubt that he genuinely cared for our family, and that he would have done anything to keep what was left of our family together._

_If he hadn't thrown Brother out in the first place, everything would have been perfect._

_

* * *

_

Itokatsu lay outside the rear door with closed eyes, basking in what remained of the sun's rays. The cold November weather was not particularly kind towards ferrets, their warm coat notwithstanding, and he was determined to get as much of it as he could.

A shadow suddenly fell over the creature, and Itokatsu opened his eyes in annoyance at the loss of the comfortable heat. But he made no sound. The man who stood over him was familiar...

A hand drifted down, and the ferret found himself being picked up by the scruff of his neck. It was a grip of iron, but he refused to cry out. Years of domestication had taught him that.

And just as quickly, it was over.

The ferret was lowered to the ground slowly, and Itokatsu returned to his afternoon suntan, completely unconcerned.

_

* * *

_

_He came back two years before the tournament began, a dishevelled figure who appeared at our door one rainy evening. Father was still away at one of his business dealings in China – I never knew how Brother found out, but it was probably the best time for him to return._

_Mother was nearly hysterical when she saw him: she hadn't expected him to come back, not after what had happened that day. I missed him greatly, too. For the past few years, we'd lived with the terrible sense of emptiness that haunted our family, stepping around it cautiously whenever we could. My brother had departed, but it was as though he'd died and left a ghost in his place – a phantom whose name was not to be spoken around our house, although it was wishful thinking, hoping that he would reappear if only we mentioned his name._

_We hoped he'd stay. He didn't._

_Mother was almost in tears when he announced that he wouldn't stay with us. We didn't exchange many words, and Brother gave no reasons or apologies. Instead, he simply left a small envelope on the table and said that it was to be handed to Father when he returned._

_We thought it signalled a change in our fortunes. Maybe they were communicating again. Maybe they were finally going to settle their differences. Maybe, even, our family could be whole once more._

_Maybe..._

_Mother gave him the locket from around her neck, a golden one with our family picture on the inside. I know she desperately wanted him to return; I know I did too. But things were still uncertain, and we weren't sure how Father would respond to his return._

_And suddenly, he was gone. There was nothing to even suggest that he had been here... nothing except the envelope that lay on the table._

_It sat there until Father returned a week later. And when he saw the letter, his response was, well, odd._

_He smiled._

_I remember asking him what its contents were; he patted me on the head and told me that it was nothing important, and I left it at that. It never occurred to me to pry any further into their secrets – as long as they sorted it out, I would be happy._

_Father handed the letter to Mother and told her to keep it safe, and that was the end of the matter, as far as I knew. Five days later, he was off on another business trip._

_And six days later, he was dead._

_

* * *

_

"She doesn't know, does she?"

He was dimly aware, through the thoughts and fears that clouded his mind, of Terry's voice breaking out behind him. The words made him whirl around, a sudden look of suspicion on his face.

"What's it to you? Don't bring her into this," he barked angrily, wondering just how Terry had managed to read his mind. But all he received in response was a wry smile from the Wolf, who had worked out the answer by now.

"I guessed as much. So..." Terry grinned. "Why, exactly, are you helping her?"

Rock's expression quickly evolved into a troubled one, and he said nothing in reply, even though he felt as though there were a thousand things to explain. There were no words that would suffice.

He managed a feeble, "Her parents are dead."

"I know." Terry's voice was warm now, reverting back to the old familiarity that Rock knew so well. "I lost my father too, you know. We're all in the same boat."

That was true, of course, and Rock knew it. It only seemed right that they, who had also lost their parents, should come to the aid of another in a similar plight. But inwardly, he knew there was also more to the situation than met the eye... something that defied explanation even now. And in his present dilemma, he wasn't in any condition to sort it out.

"They should be done soon. Let's get inside..." Terry began his return to the living room, but halted in mid-step as he gestured for Rock to follow. "Don't worry, we won't tell her a thing. But I hope you'll come to a decision soon... before it's too late."

Rock trudged slowly into the house, the ominous words still ringing in his ears.

_

* * *

_

_The official coroner's report read that he died in a car crash: they never found his body because the resulting fireball consumed everything._

_I believed it. Mother did not – she knew too much._

_The stroke that she suffered was, on reflection, no surprise._

"I'm sorry."

_You don't have to be._

_It was painful to watch her waste away in her completely helpless and bedridden state. I took care of her to the best of my ability, but even with the insurance money and the inheritance Father had left us, I was still hard pressed to care properly for her, and even more so because we didn't have any other family members to rely on. And Brother was still gone, lost to us forever..._

_She lingered on for another two years before another stroke finally claimed her. And before her death, she told me to go to __America__'s Second Southtown, where we had 'relatives'._

_I knew who she meant by that statement._

_The rest of the tale is known already, I guess. My guardian helped me to manage all the legal matters surrounding my parents' deaths, and I caught the next flight to Second Southtown._

_One last footnote remains. I returned to __Japan__ when the tournament ended. And on my eighteenth birthday, my guardian finally released the details of my mother's last will and testament. I didn't care much for the distribution of the money, but one document in particular caught my eye – a small letter enclosed in a familiar envelope._

_It was the same envelope that my brother had delivered on that day four years before. And I finally got the chance to read it, only to find myself regretting that I had ever seen it in the first case._

_Brother had challenged Father to a duel._

_Some things, it seems, cannot be attributed to coincidence. In a family of martial artists, it should have been expected that their feud would end the way it had started. But Mother knew all along... and I believe that she had tried to keep everything from me, to spare me the heartbreak. But why did she speak to me from the grave? It would have been better to leave me in ignorance... I guess I'll never know._

_The accompanying letter that she had enclosed before her death explained it all. Now that I was old enough to know the circumstances surrounding my father's demise, it fell to me to settle accounts with the last member of my family._

"What? Don't tell me you want to kill him..."

_No! Why would I want to kill my brother? There's been enough death in my family – I don't want to add to it._

_All I want... is to know the truth._

* * *

"I'll get you something to drink." Blue Mary walked off towards the counter, and Hotaru slumped back in her seat, feeling completely drained. The memories ran through her veins like poison, and purging herself of them – a cathartic action, but tiring nonetheless – had strained her mental and emotional faculties to their limit.

The ferret scurried back into the room and instantly headed for his master's arms, receiving a tired hug as she cradled him.

"Itokatsu..." she mumbled absently, stroking his fur. "I... I don't know what to do..."

It was then that she noticed his collar.

The small, plain amulet of gold hadn't been there before. It was slightly tarnished and dull from age and wear, but the setting sun's rays still made it gleam with a familiar lustre.

She opened the clasp, and gasped in surprise as a small piece of paper drifted out onto her lap. But her eyes were firmly fixed on the familiar photograph that rested in the locket's frame, faded with the passing of days...

"Is something wrong?" Mary called out without looking back.

He had to be here, in Second Southtown. And he was near... Had he been listening? Was he finally willing to acknowledge her? Had he tracked her all this while from the shadows? Hotaru didn't know. All she knew was that her answers lay with him and none other, and she was on the verge of finding him.

She had to control herself. A solution had suddenly presented itself, and all their efforts had been for naught; it didn't seem right to disappoint the people who had wanted to help her out. But she was close, so close...

"I'm fine, really..." _...but I guess I won't be going back with Rock today._

* * *

The young pair departed; one rode off on his bike back to the island, while the other began a slow walk in the direction of the Philanthropy bell tower. Terry and Mary watched them leave with some interest.

"How was it?"

"She's a good kid." Mary ran a hand through her short bob of hair. "I'll try my best. But with a family like that..." She frowned. "I'm duty-bound to arrest her brother if I find him, you know."

"Right..." There was a heavy moroseness in Terry's voice. "If the rule of law counted for everything, you'd have arrested Rock by now, along with the half of the town that's in Kain's pocket. And I suppose I'd be in jail now, serving out a life sentence for murder or something like that. The girl needs a break."

"Speaking of which," she noted, ignoring the sarcasm that had laced his words, "how did it go with Rock?"

"He's not ready. I think he's still trying to avoid his past... and with a history like that, I don't blame him." Her husband shook his head. "If the information ever goes public, his life will be ruined. We're practically asking him to commit suicide here."

"I know, but..."

"Sorry, Mary. He has to make his own decisions now. And I have no doubt that he'll do the right thing... when he's ready."

Blue Mary regarded him with a firm stare, but did not answer. The policewoman in her rebelled against what Terry had suggested, even though she knew that the humane thing to do was to let the young ones go about their business. But, as he'd noted... she'd done it before, letting morality overrule law for the sake of the ones they loved.

It was a perplexing dilemma that they faced, for certain. She was fond of Rock, and she had personally witnessed the efforts that Terry had taken to ensure that the boy did not follow in his father's footsteps; she'd even had a hand in it at times. And now, when her duty would eventually compel her to sacrifice the young man for the good of Southtown... she couldn't do it.

And that wasn't the end of her problems: Hotaru's tale still pulled at her heartstrings. She knew what it was like to lose friends and family: she remembered vividly how her grandfather, Geese Howard's teacher in the martial arts, had been cut down by his treacherous student. That was what had started her career in the police, after all – and her desire to bring the wicked to justice had survived, in spite of the death of her partner, and the endless cycle of evil that she'd watched her beloved hometown go through...

It wasn't right to deprive Hotaru of the last chance to find her brother, even if it meant having to turn a blind eye to what the man had done. Now, it seemed, it was more just to let him go... for now.

Still, Mary couldn't resist asking, only half in jest, "So you're asking me to aid and abet murder and corruption in the city?"

"We're helping a girl find her brother, and saving a boy from destroying himself." Somehow, Terry managed a smile in spite of himself. "Considering that this is Southtown we're talking about... I think those 'crimes' are forgivable."

* * *

Notes:

Okay, let's get this show on the road... You can expect more action in the next few chapters.

Bear in mind that few of the details regarding Hotaru's past, if any, can be considered canon. Where official word is lacking, artistic license will have to suffice.

If anyone wishes to help proofread this fic, you're more than welcome to. Drop me a review if you're interested. Once again, comments and constructive criticism will be welcomed.


	9. 08: A House Divided

Blood

Chapter 8: A House Divided

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting), The King of Fighters, and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

The tower was dark, the corridor's shadows lengthening with the descending sun, and it was all too easy to see unknown figures lurking around every corner as she ascended the winding stairs. Each step she took filled her with a sense of foreboding. The Philanthropy belfry seemed different now – it was too quiet, and completely different from the grounds she had battled on before.

But Hotaru continued on, fearing nothing... except what awaited her at the top. And that was, paradoxically, the one thing that drove her onwards.

The rays of light finally shone into the dark stairway, letting her know that she had reached the top. And as she walked out into the dwindling sunlight, she finally understood the reason for her misgivings.

The birds had flown.

She missed them. They'd flocked to the bell tower three years ago back when the weather was warmer, but there wasn't a sign of them, now that winter advanced on Second Southtown. It was all too quiet without them...

Hotaru sat on the edge of the parapet, letting her legs dangle freely in the air, and decided to admire the scenery. She took no pleasure in it, but she needed something – anything – to distract her from the grim task that lay ahead.

And night fell.

* * *

Dong Hwan was already raring to go, chafing at the delay as he waited for his replacement. He was glad that Duck King had persuaded the waitresses not to enforce the dress code too strictly – it was bad enough waiting outside in the cold weather without having to do so in the issued waiter's uniform, which didn't do a very good job of keeping out the chill.

It was almost six. He should have been here by now...

There was a faint buzz in the distance, engine sounds that built up into a roaring crescendo, and a familiar motorcycle quickly swerved into the parking lot that sat adjacent to the Illusion Bar. And it was a flustered Rock who sprinted across the street minutes later, his dishevelled appearance reflecting the haste in which he had arrived. But it wasn't the state of his friend's clothes that caught his attention.

"Hey, Rock... what's up?" The haunted look on Rock's face didn't escape Dong Hwan's eyes – his friend looked more depressed than ever, if that was even possible.

There was a faint murmur from the blonde youth, which Dong Hwan rightly interpreted as, "Nothing." _Typical for Rock, I guess._ He shrugged, turning to the group of girls who had just stepped up to the entrance. "Alright, ladies, have a good time now... and take good care of my pal now, 'kay?"

The girls laughed good-naturedly, one of them even blowing an air-kiss in his direction; he gave them a roguish wink and sauntered down the street, ever the ladies' man. And it was left to Rock to admit the customers into the bar, disconsolately wondering what it was like to live without a care in the world.

* * *

There was a sudden hiss as Itokatsu squirmed from her arms and landed on the floor. Turning, Hotaru saw a man out of the corner of her eye: a stranger, his form hidden from her, waited on the other side of the great bells that hung in the tower.

"Who is it?"

It was a rhetorical question: she had called out in Japanese – not in English, Southtown's lingua franca. And in reply, the man stepped out of the shadows noiselessly, taking one menacing step towards her.

"Brother?"

She turned to face him down, her gaze steely. And in that one word she spoke, a million questions flew across the space between them, all calling for him to account for himself.

He decided to answer one of them. "Your brother is dead."

"So who are you?" she replied bluntly.

He said nothing, and she levelled her next accusation at him. "Why did you send me Mother's locket, then? Why arrange for this meeting at all?"

Hotaru wasn't sure how long she could keep up her brave front – but she wasn't content with seeing him in the flesh this time. Now, she had a mission, and if she didn't find out the truth...

No. There was no such option.

Gato spoke in a brusque tone, but Hotaru sensed no malice in his voice. "Get out of here, girl. Leave Second Southtown, and don't come back. Or there'll be hell to pay."

And to his surprise, she laughed bitterly in his face.

"Leave?"

Her voice was plaintive and sorrowful, despair showing clearly through the word she threw back in his face. "Leave, after I've come so far to find you? You must be crazy."

She looked him in the eye, daring him to strike her. "I have nowhere to go. My brother is dead, as you claim." And another short, choking laugh escaped from her lips. "Well, my mother is dead from grief, mourning a lost son and a lost husband. And my father is dead... at my brother's hand."

He stood silently, wondering at the change which had come over his sister. The years had stripped away her naïveté, it seemed; or were his deeds to blame? Or perhaps their mother's last words had finally led her closer to the truth.

It had to be. She would never have come back here otherwise.

She never stopped. "Why did you do it, Brother? Why did you have to tear our family apart? Did you hate Father that much?"

No, he realised; their mother had not told her the whole truth. And so it fell to him; the unpleasant duty – he laughed inwardly at the irony – was his, to let her know about what had really happened that day. More than anything, he wanted to see his father ruined. Not just dead, but shamed and humiliated to boot. It was only fitting, considering the way the old man had disgraced him so many years ago...

But still, she was family – an obsolete concept, but one that still held a little weight in his estimation, even if he didn't like to admit it. That was why he had never been able to raise his hand against her three years ago, and that was why he hesitated, just on the verge of delivering the deathblow to his father's reputation.

He didn't know what to expect from her if he told the truth. It was a surprise that he even cared. But it took a cold heart to plot vengeance... more so when family was involved.

"I didn't kill him." That would do for starters. He didn't add that it was, of course, his intention to do so at the next given opportunity.

"I don't believe you." The cynical words shot from her lips all too quickly, but they sounded more like a denial, an unwillingness to believe what had just been spoken. "I don't believe in coincidences. There was the 'accident', and your challenge, and..."

"Oh, I don't deny that I challenged Father to a duel." His lips curled cruelly in disdain as he remembered the disgrace of that day. And he endured the shame that coursed through his mind as he continued deliberately, "But I didn't win."

He saw his sister's pupils widen in shock. "Then..."

"Heh." He smirked cryptically. "As I said, your brother is dead. And it's in your best interests to get out of this town... while you still can." He sounded almost remorseful now, wondering if it had been the right choice to bring their family's deeds to the light.

There was no room for regrets. He began to walk back towards the stairs...

"Stop."

The note of command in her voice gave him pause; it was as though an invisible wall had been dropped in front of him. There was something new in that tone, something that he knew had changed in her, and it was that something that compelled him to stop.

But that one word had stolen all her strength: Hotaru's voice was frail and tremulous now as she made one last cast of the die, desperately making a last attempt to call him back.

"I've spent the last three years trying to find you."

All the control had left her voice now, and it seemed to him that the melodrama of three years past would be replayed before his eyes. He was weary of it – it sounded too much like something out of one of those damnable soap operas.

"The inheritance I received is running out – but you probably didn't know that. All this time, I've been wandering around the world, trying to figure out where you'd disappeared to after the tournament. I didn't know where to start: nobody even knew who you were or what you did. Eventually, I was forced to return home... and that was when I discovered Mother's secret."

She paused, looking hard at him, and he could see her entire body shaking with anger.

"And now that I've found you, do you really think I'm going to be satisfied with some cryptic comments and an answer that means nothing to me? It doesn't work that way." She flung out a finger at him in accusation, but her voice, fragile with pain and frustration, was unable to put any weight behind her retort. "I don't know why Mother wanted me to find out the truth for myself, but you're the only one left who knows the whole story. And if you ever loved Mother..."

Gato snapped his head around, revealing an expression that managed to combine annoyance with a faint admiration.

"...you _will_ tell me everything."

_So, the little girl's all grown up now._

He hadn't expected her to invoke their mother against him – she'd always been the honest one in their family. But it suited her style perfectly; the irony was that of all the dirty tricks that he'd been prepared to deal with, the only thing that she could have possibly done was the one that he'd never fully proofed himself against...

A fatalistic grin appeared on his face. No, Mother would never have wanted her daughter's search to turn out this way – and neither would Father. And therein lay his dilemma.

"Idiot," he growled, finally deciding on his course. "If you want to die that badly, just jump off this tower."

Hotaru stared mutely at him, finally lost for words at the insult which her brother had thrown in her face. But he didn't stop there.

"You're a fool if you think you'll ever get to the bottom of this." It had been a long time since he'd spoken so much; it felt unnatural to hear his own voice. "If you want answers, you're better off asking Kain Heinlein."

It took several moments for the shock to register, but when it did, the expression on Hotaru's face exposed her disbelief more effectively than words ever could.

"What are you talking about?" she asked weakly, feeling a great weight sink into the bottom of her stomach. "What does Kain have to do with all this?"

Infuriatingly enough, he chose not to elaborate, taunting her instead: "Why don't you ask that Howard boy? Considering how he's already approached that toothless old wolf, I'm sure he could use his other 'connections' to find out."

For Hotaru, those words were the last straw: the way Gato had slandered Rock – the one who had helped her so willingly – sent her into an outburst of anger and confusion. "Rock has nothing to do with this! So his father and uncle were criminals. That doesn't make him one too! And why won't you give me a straight answer? What would Kain know about our family, anyway?"

"More than you imagine." The ugly, dangerous grin on Gato's face widened. "But I've said enough."

"Then why help me in the first place? Why..."

Any further protest that Hotaru could have made died stillborn, drowned out by the sudden peal of bells as the tower proclaimed that it was now seven. She bent over, clutching Itokatsu close to her as she tried to calm the struggling ferret, but even she could not hold back the sudden pounding of her heart as the deafening toll of the bells hammered away at her eardrums.

Gato stood and watched in amusement, seemingly unaffected by it all. He looked at her one last time, his eyes as cold as the winter's night...

_You reminded me of her._

The tolling ceased, and she looked up for her brother. But he had already vanished with the sound of the bells.

* * *

An entire week passed without incident, and Saturday morning saw Terry Bogard wake up to the beginning of another unfruitful day.

_I know no news is good news,_ he noted wryly, _but it wouldn't hurt to get some news from the other side of the world once in a while._

He yawned and stretched his sleep-stiffened muscles, and rolled over onto his side... only to find that the other side of the bed was already empty. Not that it mattered, of course – he knew where the other occupant had gone.

The faint sounds of tapping drifted in from the living room.

_I swear, she's a workaholic._ He strolled out of the bedroom, where, as if to confirm his predictions, Blue Mary sat in front of the computer terminal with a huge steaming mug of coffee. She was only mildly surprised when Terry hugged her from behind.

It took two full minutes of snuggling before she finally complained, "Cut it out, Terry. All this work can't wait."

"Yeah, yeah." Terry directed his eyes towards the monitor, not willing to break his embrace. "Any luck on the murders?"

"Nope." She sighed. "It's puzzling: the security guard's injuries were pretty limited – a broken neck and three slashes on the back. Now, our friend Switchblade, on the other hand... I'm surprised we didn't need a mop and bucket, but enough of him was left intact for us to see the same three slashes..."

Terry admired the way she managed to coolly run over the facts without throwing up. It was hard to find a woman like her these days... and that was probably why she'd finally made the rank of Inspector.

"So, what you're saying is that the two murders were by the same..."

"No. You have to dig deeper than that." She twisted her head around and looked him squarely in the eye. "The two bodies have the marks on their backs in common, but that's about it. The rest of the evidence – the condition of the bodies and the manner in which the victims were killed – is too disparate for us to assume they were done by the same person. It might just be a copycat murder."

She looked back at the screen and sipped her coffee, reflecting on the evidence that had been presented to the Second Southtown Police Department. "Of course, it looks as though our 'copycat' has outdone the original... if you're counting in terms of gallons of blood spilled. We haven't seen anything like this before..."

"Actually, we have," Terry cut in. Mary shot him an annoyed glare.

"Fine, let me rephrase that: _the others_ haven't seen this before. You and I, naturally, are all too familiar with these sorts of scenes. But I think we can rule out the Orochi bloodline in this case."

Terry nodded. "The Riot of the Blood drives its victim berserk, and I don't think anyone in that state would be able to intentionally duplicate the slashes. You need presence of mind for that. Which means..."

"Nah. Believe me, I suspected Ryuji Yamazaki as well, but he's currently locked up in Hong Kong. I just checked yesterday."

"Did you ever consider taking up a career as a fortune teller?"

Blue Mary laughed, but her mind was set solely on business. "Anyway, the most likely local alternative –" she made a face at the unpleasantness of the term "– would be Freeman. I wouldn't put money on him staying dead, but we can't confirm anything at this point in time." The mug of coffee was drained to its dregs in one gulp. "Anyway, Terry... you've got your own man to hunt down, don't you?"

"Gee, you're a tough one to please," Terry mumbled teasingly. He stood upright and walked back into the bedroom... and to his surprise, he found a bulky package sitting in the centre of the rumpled bedclothes, the Shiranui family crest emblazoned on its side.

_And about time, too! _"Those darn ninjas... Can't even leave a return address," he swore in jest, just loudly enough for the benefit of the messenger who might have been hiding on their roof. Still, he opened the package, breaking the seal that kept it closed.

Terry spent the next fifteen minutes perusing the documents within the envelope, and found himself well and truly disturbed by the time he'd gone through the entire stack.

"Mary?"

"Mm?" she called, never looking up from her work.

"The paperwork on Hotaru's family just came in."

"Well, that's a good sign."

"Not exactly..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her voice suddenly less sure than it had been a moment ago.

"Well, let me put it this way," Terry noted bleakly. "Rock's not the only one with a family tree that's rotten to the roots."

* * *

"He hasn't been looking too good lately..."

"You're right."

"I wonder why..."

"Ya think...?"

A new voice entered the discussion. "Hey, what's up?"

Three heads swivelled around, locking on to Dong Hwan in unison.

"You're still hanging around, Dong Hwan? It's nothing, really," Sally replied, but her finger remained pointed at the moping bouncer who stood beyond the doors of the Illusion. "We were just discussing the emotional state of your friend out there."

Duck King nodded sagely. "Looks like somethin's eatin' away at him from da inside... an' it don' look good."

"You noticed too, eh?" Dong Hwan frowned, his suspicions newly aroused. "He's even worse than he used to be. Any idea why?"

The other staff members didn't know.

"Perhaps it was dat..." Duck King ventured, before the twins cut him off with swift glances. "Nah, couldn't be."

Dong Hwan appraised the near-imperceptible actions, and instantly shot back, "What?"

"Ya know, guys yo' age... it could be girl trouble, ya think?" Behind the dark glasses, Duck King's eyes were shifty. But his suggestion seemed to have allayed the Korean youth's wariness.

"That's it? I'm not surprised." He laughed confidently, partly at the thought of Rock in a cassock. "It looks like he'll have to take some lessons from the pro, then."

The doors closed behind him as he walked out into the cold night air, where Rock was busy scaring off the latest round of customers with that long face of his. Taking the sullen young man by the arm, he muttered, "We need to talk, Rock."

"What?"

"You're not helping business much, not with that sour face of yours," he chuckled. "So, you wanna talk about it?"

The reply flew back in his face as he'd expected as Rock suddenly clammed up, unwilling to answer with anything more than a curt, "No." But that didn't faze Dong Hwan one bit.

"Seriously, Rock..." He placed his arm around his friend's shoulder. "It's not healthy to keep everything bottled up inside like that. You gotta let it out once in a while, ya know?"

If Rock was going to let anything out, he didn't seem to be inclined towards doing it there and then. He looked away with dull eyes.

"What's the matter, too proud to tell?" Dong Hwan changed tactics now, trying to taunt Rock into speaking where coaxing had failed. "Don't be so snobbish, you dumbass. I'm trying to help here –"

"I don't need your help, fool!"

Dong Hwan felt the harsh pressure from Rock's outstretched hand on his chest, and a glimpse of madness in those blood-red eyes; then he found himself stumbling backwards, caught by surprise, and it was only his quick reflexes that stopped him from toppling through the glass doors.

A hush fell over the crowd as they milled about the entrance, too afraid to do anything else but watch. Rock's face suddenly turned ashen as he realised the enormity of what he'd done; his act of hostility was utterly despicable, and he knew it.

He nearly stumbled over himself in his haste, reaching out for his fallen friend in apology. "I'm sorry, Dong Hwan..."

The victim accepted the proffered hand as though nothing had happened, and allowed himself to be pulled up. "It's okay," he replied with good grace. "So, you still wanna talk about it?"

The expression on Rock's face didn't change at all. "I'd rather not. It's personal..."

Dong Hwan didn't pursue the matter. He knew that he was still calm and collected – on the outside. But inwardly, he knew what he'd seen in Rock's eyes, and it made him worry: it was the look of a man with a burden too great to bear and a pride too big to swallow.

Clearly, this wasn't about girls. And against his better judgement, Dong Hwan decided not to pursue the matter – he didn't want to make things worse.

The patrons returned uneasily to their drinks, shaken by the sudden outburst. And Dong Hwan caught a glimpse of the Illusion's staff, staring worriedly at him through the glass doors. He raised a hand to wave at them, signalling that he was okay...

...and in the bustle of the dissolving crowd, he missed Rock's final whispered words:

_"...and you can't help me. Nobody can."_

* * *

_"...and you can't help me. Nobody can."_

A pair of red eyes opened, filled with fear.

He looked to his clock. It was only two in the morning – a good seven hours since he'd said those fateful words, and yet they still lingered on in his own mind.

Why had he said those words? He didn't know. All that he knew was that they were true. Among those whom he counted as friends, few knew what it was like to live with the burden he bore: none of them had grown up with the stigma of a family that was beyond wicked, where the sins of the fathers were visited on the sons. The Kims had always been on the side of good. Terry and his associates had set their faces against Geese Howard and the Jins, and would continue their fight against evil for as long as was necessary... He was the odd man out among them, a dark blot on their reputations.

Perhaps _she_ knew what it was like to live with a black sheep in the family. Her brother was, after all, a hired gun... No. It was unfair to push her brother's misdeeds onto her. And even then, the comparison was unfair – she was nothing like him. She had escaped the taint of corruption, while he had embraced it with both eyes open.

There was no way out of his predicament, and none could help him... and while he waited for something to happen, his pent-up madness would build up slowly, constantly eroding what little sanity that remained... until the walls broke down, and he brought disaster on all those around him. The night's confrontation had been clear evidence of that – and he knew that it would only get worse.

He trudged over to the bathroom and splashed a handful of freezing water on his face. It was always the same dream – if one could call it that; all he remembered was the overwhelming darkness that swarmed over him night after night. He saw and felt nothing, and the only words he heard called to him in his own voice, constantly baiting him...

_What will you do now, young cub? The choice is yours – to reign in Hell, or to burn in it._

He gazed up into the mirror, noting the dark rings that had formed around his eyes in the past week. The image seemed to look back at him with a sinister fervour, reflecting not himself, but another person altogether: add a few pounds and thirty years, and...

_No!_ he screamed silently, snapping out of the trance that he had almost entered. But he knew he had a base for his fears. That meeting with Terry had done nothing to ease his fears; it had precipitated the situation instead, forcing him to finally choose between the two unpalatable options that he faced. And he hated Terry for it, yet a part of him knew that he had no choice – he wouldn't be able to sit this storm out. That was just stalling.

A confrontation – with who, he didn't know – was inevitable. And it was this dark prediction that hung over his head like a vengeful spirit, plaguing him with waking nightmares and tormenting his sleep with glimpses of what would probably be...

He undressed and stepped into the shower, letting another blast of cold water run over his body, and praying that it would wash his nightmares away. It never worked, but it didn't hurt to try.

_"But I hope you'll come to a decision soon... before it's too late."_

Terry's admonition had been quietly ominous. Neither choice offered him any chance of salvation – but he had to choose now, and his options lay between the mercies of the police and a return to the fold of Kain.

But there was a third choice open to him, a crazy thought that he never would have considered in a million years...

_Your father ruled Southtown._

_Your uncle succeeded him._

The words continued to clash in his mind, agitating him, provoking him to madness; he made no move to exclude them from his thoughts.

_Your father ruled Southtown. Your uncle succeeded him._

_Your father your uncle your father your uncleyourfatheryouruncleyourfatheryouruncle_

_You._

He looked into the mirror again, seeing the familiar face of his father staring back at him, sneering at him with knowing arrogance. They were of a kind, he knew, adept at destruction and power, and little more.

And instinctively, he knew what he had to do. For what his hands had helped to create, they could also undo.

* * *

Another young man lay awake in his bed, gazing blankly at the ceiling.

Forced inactivity had got the better of Dong Hwan, and he felt... _cramped_. It was bad enough that he'd had to adjust his lifestyle to suit the rest of the family, but now, with his father and brother panicking...

He didn't see what the fuss was all about. If that creep ever dared to show his face again, dead or not, they'd just kick his pasty-white butt out of town. It was that simple.

Now, cooped up within these four walls... Ironically, it was this confinement that made him all the more restless. _I'm a free spirit, for crying out loud! You can't do this to me!_

He got up and walked to the window, wondering idly if screaming those words to the entire neighbourhood would help his cause.

_Nah._

Thus dissuaded, he leant against the sill, hoping that a few breaths of cold air would calm his nerves...

_Isn't that Rock down there?_ He looked again, unsure if he believed what his eyes were telling him. Coincidences just didn't work that way...

Sure, there were plenty of blonde men in Second Southtown. And certainly, it wasn't uncommon to find people dressed in black. But everything about the person's behaviour seemed suspicious – and of all the suspicious fellows he'd seen over the past few days, his friend had been the worst.

His baser natures told him to step away from the window and pretend nothing had happened. It wasn't his business anyway, and for all he knew, it could have been a case of mistaken identity – perhaps the man was just an eccentric jogger, out on a midnight run.

But his mind said something else. He could clearly sense that something was amiss; his instincts, honed from both fighting and hanging around casinos, were practically screaming at him to wake up and take note.

Something was horribly wrong.

Dong Hwan slipped over to his cupboard, taking care not to make any sound that would alert his family, and drew out a black _dobok_. There wasn't any sense in dragging the whole family into this mess... and anyway, he wanted to know what exactly was going on.

A moment later, the window opened. And without hesitation, Dong Hwan easily leapt from the second floor, landing gracefully in the grass. He'd done it too often, back in the days when he needed to sneak out for a party or two, and it turned out that the practice had done him some good. Now, to track his wayward friend...

It took him only a few seconds to realise that something _else_ had gone horribly wrong.

_I should've worn something warmer,_ he noted glumly, as the wind whipped up a freezing draught around his bare legs.

* * *

Shadows rose up against him, forbidding Rock from advancing any further. But he knew better.

He remembered the Heinlein mansion well, and one thing that he remembered was that the mansion's gates were open all night. It was an arrogant gesture – but no gangs remained in Second Southtown who would be foolhardy enough to attempt a head-on assault on Kain's property.

He knew. He'd seen to that, back in the day.

The guards at the gate never stood a chance. A hard left hook to the head dispatched the first, and the second was the unlucky recipient of an over-the-shoulder throw. The two now lay on the ground, unconscious: it was better for them that way.

Rock strode through open gates into Kain's courtyard, catching the lone guard at the front door by surprise. The black-suited man had tried to catch a few winks, secure in the belief that his fallen comrades would hold the fort; he found himself rudely awakened by Rock's cruel grip as the youth forced him into a brutal deathlock and swung him away from the door. There wasn't even enough time for him to cry out for help.

Rock's sudden action was enough to check the rush of bodyguards who had entered the front yard, alerted by security cameras. They approached the hostage-taker with caution, fearing the worst.

"Call Kain down. Call him out now, or..." Rock ignited a tongue of energy from his clenched fist a mere fraction of an inch away from the panicked hostage's face, and felt a strange surge of elation as he sensed the man's fear, saw the beads of cold sweat that trickled down the hostage's pallid cheek. This was what it was like to wield power. Now he was the one in control, a sensation that he hadn't felt since leaving his uncle's employ...

He caught himself, barely in time to stop his delusions of grandeur. That was the thin line he'd been trying to toe all this while, and it wouldn't do for him to slip up now. If he'd misjudged the sensitivities of his uncle's henchmen, he was in for a tough time.

"Well?" he roared, and they took a step back. Good. They didn't show too much initiative.

A voice from behind the throng called out to them tiredly: it was not his uncle's voice.

"Okay, people, get out of here. I'll deal with him."

The guards melted back into the shadows warily, and a heavyset stranger stepped out from their midst.

"Now, Master Howard..." He yawned languidly, more annoyed than concerned about the violent intrusion. "Put the man down, please. He's wetting his pants, and I don't think your uncle will be very happy about the dry-cleaning bills."

* * *

Dong Hwan suppressed a snicker from his hiding place behind the pillar. A security camera rested uselessly atop it, its circuits conveniently shorted out.

_Smartass._ He didn't add that it was something he himself would have said in the same circumstances. The guy seemed familiar: the Oriental clothes, the queue, the moustache and goatee... it had to be the guy Jae had mentioned, the one from the docks that night.

This was getting interesting.

He heard the sound of scrabbling, turned to see a fallen guard reach for the gun that lay beside him...

"Quit it already. I'm tryin' to listen." He stamped down hard on the man's shoulder with a charged kick, and the man slumped back to the ground, shocked back into unconsciousness.

"How inconsiderate..." he murmured, resuming his vigil.

* * *

Rock peered out from behind his captive. "You expect me to trust you?"

"Obviously not." Goto snorted. "But it doesn't make a difference. If we'd wanted to shoot you, we would have done so by now. But since neither you nor I want to have to deal with the possible repercussions..."

The man had a point. Rock was acutely aware of the predicament he'd placed himself in, and cursed himself for not having thought this suicidal attempt through. "Fine." He tossed the now-unconscious hostage onto the ground contemptuously and extinguished the plume of ki, staring at the stranger with barely-concealed hostility. "So, where's Kain?"

"He's asleep – as we all should be."

"And who are you? I doubt that Kain would allow anyone else to act in his stead."

The irony of the situation was not lost on Goto, who retorted acidly, "I'm just filling in the post that you vacated."

"Hn." Rock snorted, matching derision with scorn. "So... you probably know that Kain's planning something big, don't you?"

Once again, a noncommittal answer: "Only as much as you do."

"Well, I've got a message for him." His heart started pounding with an intensity that he hadn't felt before, not even when he'd staked his life on that of a guard a few moments ago. This was it.

He gritted his teeth, determined to get the dirty deed done. "Tell him that, whatever he's planning... he'd better give it up and get out of town while he still can."

There. He'd delivered his ultimatum.

"And what if we refuse?" Goto cocked an eyebrow at the young upstart. "You're making big threats... and I'm interested to find out just how much weight you can put behind them."

Rock had seen it coming, and he replied with his prepared answer. "Obviously, I'll go to the police. After all, I believe you're familiar with this organisation's buried secrets... and I could tell them just where to start digging."

"Of course. And what of yourself, young Master Howard? I do not think that you would be so foolish as to stake your reputation on this."

He'd seen that shot coming as well. He'd debated it up to the second he'd stepped into Kain's grounds. And then, he'd made his choice. "It doesn't matter." He shook his head. "Besides, we all know who's got more to lose."

"I should have guessed that you'd come up with something this reckless." Goto actually gave Rock a knowing smile, which only served to accentuate the latter's anger. "Your hands are as dirty as mine... but then again, perhaps not. You're an interesting man, Howard."

"Cut it out."

"No, I'm serious." He wagged a finger theatrically. "Your history with the company is actually quite telling. After all, you were the one who managed to run Kain's remaining rivals out of town, and all this without shedding blood... although the record will show that most of them were more than a little sore by the time they left the town."

Rock kept his mouth shut, but his silence denied nothing.

"You're a man of contradictions, Master Howard. Everything about you seems to breathe violence, blood and death – and yet, in spite of everything, you deny your nature. An admirable act of endurance, if slightly misguided. It was in your best interests to leave this town, and you knew it, yet you chose to remain. And now, even when your welfare is at stake, you choose to sacrifice it – to what end?" Goto paused, looking abashed – and yet mocking him at the same time. "Forgive my impertinence towards my predecessor, but I hope you won't mind my rambling."

"What are you driving at, old man?" A nauseating sensation began to rise up in Rock's throat. Nothing good could come of this.

"You know, I really don't understand where you youngsters get all your sad adolescent angst from, but it has to be a by-product of your confused state." Goto continued, his smile suddenly seeming far more conspiratorial than it had been earlier. "Allow me to offer you a counter-proposition..."

"What?"

"_You_ leave this town, and promise never to stick your nose into Kain's business again... and _she_ doesn't need to know."

Rock froze, keenly feeling the bitter taste of bile at the back of his throat.

* * *

Hotaru slept.

She dreamt of her mother, long deceased, and the legacy she'd left behind. Now, it fell to the daughter to tie up the family's loose knots.

She dreamt of her brother, the one who'd departed in a cloud of mysteries and shadows. She didn't understand anything – what had he meant? What were his intentions?

Her father was nothing more than a distant memory now, but she knew that his death lay at the centre of the whole business. It was her filial duty to put his memory to rest.

And of a boy, one who offered to share her burden yet found himself incapable of sharing his own, one who was, in some way, connected with her search in some way that boded nothing but ill...

She dreamt.

* * *

"I'm surprised you didn't make the connection sooner, considering how the clothes should have been a dead giveaway," Goto pointed out, seemingly unconcerned at the effect his announcement had on the stunned Rock. "First name Goto, family name – but I think you know that already, don't you?"

Rock remained immobile, his face petrified in a mask of abject horror.

"You... You're dead." His lips refused to form the words properly even as he struggled to control the rest of his body. He felt a prickling on his skin, one that ran down his spine and sent waves of shock back up into his brain. He was numb.

"And I'd like things to stay that way, if you don't mind." Goto's narrowed eyes conveyed a meaning more serious than his nonchalant words showed. "After all, if you expose Kain's secrets, you expose not only yourself, but me as well... You can imagine what the news of her father's deeds will do to her."

He knew. He'd gone through it before, in a time long past. He remembered the frustration, the shame, and the hatred which he'd experienced... and he didn't want anyone to have to endure it again.

Not her. Not the innocent one.

"Don't think I'm not grateful. I must thank you for helping her to track Gato down... but one family member is enough, don't you think?" Goto cajoled. "Not to mention the fact that she seems a little sweet on you."

The prickling intensified, transmuting into a million needles that entered his skin relentlessly. It flowed over his entire body now, jabbing, piercing, stabbing... but he didn't move. He heard nothing, said nothing, did nothing. Questions sped fleetingly through his mind, and vanished just as quickly: _Is he telling the truth? Why did he leave her? How can I tell her this? What will she do? What will _I_ do?_

He was lost; his initiative had been checked. His opponent had wagered a far greater bid than he'd expected to face, and it was one which he could not match.

"So... weigh the consequences for yourself. If you reveal our deeds, it will ruin more people than your uncle and myself. Would you see her dragged into this, and have her destroyed by the truth about us?"

_You dragged her into this the moment you spoke of her,_ he wanted to retort, but his mind was detached from the rest of his body. It failed to register, as did the thousands of other thoughts that continued to carom within his mind.

It was pain that consumed his body now, flooding every nerve with acid as he simply stood there and absorbed it all. And with pain came a blind rage, fuelled by the blood which he had denied up to this point... but no further.

A single thought finally broke through the stonewall that surrounded his mind, primed by the unconscious fury that coursed through his body like poison, and reached his lips.

"No."

Mind connected with body, and Rock was suddenly ablaze with wrath and violet energy, an incandescent demon in the middle of the night. Streams of ki flowed from his frame as he hunched over, letting it burst from him in a terrible outpouring of anger. He was powerless to control it: his eyes had turned into lenses of red-stained glass, reflecting nothing and revealing nothing.

Goto watched him, impressed. _Ah, the legendary Heinlein blood. It looks like I'll have the chance to see it in action... and up close too._ He shouted out into the darkness, "Fall back! Leave things to me –"

And then Rock was upon him, slamming an elbow into his midsection before he could say anything more.

* * *

"They're fighting, sir. What shall we do?"

"Stand down. Let Goto have his fun."

* * *

To Goto's surprise, the blow actually hurt. It had been a while since anyone had been able to do that to him – and he was pleasantly surprised.

_So, Kain, when you mentioned that battle... was this what you had in mind?_ He struck with open palm at his opponent's face, a blow that should have rendered any opponent insensate. And true, Rock was sent flying backwards across the lawn as quickly as he had advanced... but he landed on his feet. And in an instant, the youth catapulted himself into another charge, racing forwards with insane speed. Goto planted one foot behind him, bracing himself for the blow...

The first hit his spread palms with a meaty thwack, and he prepared to shift his weight to reverse his opponent's momentum. But even before he could do so, an extended hand slipped past his guard, and the second impact landed directly on his unguarded chest. He tumbled backwards, rolling into a crouch in order to minimise the damage of the blow.

_Not bad._ His chest smarted from where the blows had fallen, and he hadn't anticipated the speed of Rock's movements; he knew he was at a disadvantage, as much as he hated to admit it.

Goto decided to begin his offensive.

He leapt towards his adversary, spinning into an overhead kick aimed directly at Rock's head, but the maddened youth easily dodged aside and countered with an elbow thrust. Goto whipped his head away by only the narrowest of margins, felt the cold lick of purple energy brush past his face – and for the first time, he began to doubt his own capabilities.

_Close shave,_ he thought, and smashed his palm into Rock's solar plexus. But the blow never connected. Goto looked down, and saw his wrist seized in a vicelike grip. And before he could respond, he felt a sharp, burning pain in his skull...

The hold was broken, and he struck out wildly as he shuffled out of range, hitting nothing but empty air.

_No needless movements,_ he admonished himself. But Rock had already landed, his foot alight from that last kick, and Goto had barely enough time to berate himself before the next attack came.

The courtyard was suddenly illuminated with a terrible light as Rock threw a glowing wave of ki at Goto. The older man saw it coming, and leapt up into the air over it, throwing down his own shockwave behind the path of Rock's attack, where he saw his opponent...

He saw his opponent rise up into the air on violet wings, a fist cocked in preparation to strike. In midair, there was no way he could avoid the attack; he prepared himself for the inevitable.

The fist hit home, and Goto found himself enveloped in tongues of energy, setting him aflame with the same cold intensity that he had barely avoided earlier. And he found himself falling to the ground, momentarily paralysed by the dark power behind the blow...

* * *

_Okay, let's see. I've got this idiot friend of mine, who, for no reason in particular, runs all the way to his uncle's mansion in the middle of the night simply to pick a fight. And now he's gone completely bonkers and will probably try to take the entire mansion down with him. Knowing my luck, there'll be a hundred snipers in the trees or something, and they'll probably shoot me down like a dog, too._

_I have two options._

_One: I can stand back, and watch as the mansion burns down and everyone dies._

_Two: I can join in the fight, help Rock, get killed in the process, and _not _watch as the mansion burns down and everyone dies – because I obviously won't be around to witness the aftermath._

_Seriously, why am I the one who gets all the hard decisions?_

Dong Hwan made up his mind with displeasure, bristling at the options he'd given himself. He watched the two of them fall to the ground, one on his feet, the other on one knee.

He took a deep breath. And with an incredible burst of speed, he shot across Kain's front yard, covering the distance to the two combatants in a few seconds, and launched himself into a flying kick...

...directly at Rock.

The berserker was sent hurtling away into the bushes, and Goto found himself staring at the ridiculous young man who had needlessly thrown himself into the fight.

"Sorry about this," Dong Hwan panted. "My pal's a really mean drunk."

"I can see that," retorted Goto dryly, and evaded the rushing wave of energy that had flown out from where Rock had landed. "Do I know you?"

Dong Hwan hurled himself out of the way just in time, the blast just barely touching the soles of his feet. "HEY! You could at least warn me!" He struck out with a scything kick, crackling with electricity, at his erstwhile friend's head. Rock tipped his head backwards, sneering as the lightning brushed past, and punched the Korean heavily in the gut.

"Survival of the fittest, boy," Goto quipped, trying to remember who this upstart was._ Brown hair, brown eyes, young, uses his own variation of Taekwondo, misplaced sense of humour... Damn, those Kims get everywhere._ He jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding the burning fist that had been thrown in his direction, and watched as Rock sprang up from his crouch into an inverted drill kick, both feet striking out at the man in the air.

Goto plummeted from his high position, segueing into a sliding kick that should have caught Rock off his guard. But the madman had landed first...

The assassin suddenly found himself seized once again, but this time, he was sent soaring into the air. From his vantage point, he saw his opponent on the ground, aglow with energy.

_Crap._

The spike of ki smashed into his body, and he crashed heavily in the same bushes where Dong Hwan had landed.

"Survival of the fittest, eh?" came the sarcastic reply.

"Right. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Babysitting," Dong Hwan grunted, barely avoiding the next wave of energy that had been thrown in his direction. "You're Kain's right-hand man now, eh?"

_He's got guts, I'll grant him that..._ "So what if I am?" Goto raised his forearm, blocking the punch that Rock threw at him, and coming off the worse for it. He countered with a blow of his own, lunging forwards in retaliation, and the fury-possessed Rock was forced to retreat for a moment. That gave Dong Hwan the opportunity to follow up with a flurry of swift kicks that put Rock on the defensive, which earned him yet another blast of ki for his pains.

It was entirely by chance that the unlikely allies ended up taking cover behind the same pillar, sheltering themselves from the shards of stone that were being scattered across the courtyard.

"Look, I don't like you very much – for personal reasons. But we have to stop him, and unless you have any better ideas, I've got a suggestion."

"Go on, I'm listening."

* * *

The demon was consumed by fury; he saw nothing except his opponents, and only recognised them for what they were – enemies.

And enemies had to be destroyed.

One of them – the old one, he saw – charged out from behind the pillar with a roar.

_Good._

They exchanged blows rapidly, their hands and feet lashing out in rapid succession.

The old man would get tired eventually. His face already bore the signs of weariness, and it was only a matter of time before he succumbed. And then he would die.

He saw a flash: the old man had thrust his fingertips at his eyes. The monster laughed at such a cheap, feeble attempt...

...and found himself on the receiving end of a shoulder thrust. He had been faked out.

The old man followed up with an open-palm swipe. _Let him have his moment. It will only make his death so much more ironic._ He waited for the final blow...

* * *

Goto's fist shot out, casting a golden glow as it homed in on its target. And this blow would have settled the fight for good – but Rock did not fall.

His punch had been blocked by one of Rock's own – another fist, sheathed in a purple glove, had met it head on. And he heard the crackling of energies, and felt the strain on his arm as the madman pushed hard, forcing Goto to muster up all his power in an attempt to stop Rock from breaking through.

It was interesting, he mused, that his arm hurt. No opponent had ever caused him so much hurt as the one before him, and every fibre in his body was screaming for an end to the pain. Not even a lifetime's worth of training could have prepared him for this – and he relished it, knowing that this fight was worth the years of waiting.

Of course, the outcome was another matter altogether. He gritted his teeth, waiting for that Korean boy's _brilliant_ plan...

_That idiot's taking quite a while._

Then he saw the lightning.

Dong Hwan's heel crashed heavily into Rock's unguarded skull – once, twice, thrice and again – and with each stroke, the enraged youth howled out a scream of fury and agony as the electricity coursed through his nerves. Goto watched calmly, never relaxing the force that he exerted, but even he wondered how much it would take to bring the berserker down.

The pressure on his fist suddenly dissipated, and Rock sagged to the ground in a crumpled heap, electrocuted beyond the limits of his unnatural endurance.

* * *

Dong Hwan swore wearily at the body on the ground and muttered something about 'fools rushing in', perfectly aware that his target audience was unable to hear him. He should have thought of the consequences beforehand: they wouldn't escape from Kain's territory unscathed. In his mind, he saw the guards closing in...

It was all Rock's fault, of course, but friendship had its price.

_Hey, if I'm going to die, at least I'll make 'em laugh._

"First you try to pick a fight with me in front of the bar. Then you make me run all the way to this stinking mansion in the middle of the night. And now, you try to kill everyone in this place? What are you, nuts? I'm going to have a few words with you when you recover," he muttered, hoisting Rock's arm over his shoulder. Looking over the other side, he called out as nonchalantly as he could, "I'll be bringing this guy home now, if you don't mind."

He'd never expected Kain's henchman to agree, though.

* * *

"Be my guest," Goto quipped, trying to work some life back into his arm, which now hung limp at his side, and he watched as the two youths slowly disappeared into the night.

The first of the security guards began to step out of the darkness, but timidly, wondering if the fight was truly over. Another shadow joined them.

"You were awake, weren't you?" he spoke, seemingly to nobody in particular.

"Of course."

Goto snorted. "No surprise, then, that the boy went berserk. I really must thank you for the opportunity to test my skills... _Kain_." The tone of his voice suggested more than a hint of malice in his salutation.

"You're welcome. Incidentally, about our plans..."

"Ah, just what I was going to bring up..." he remarked. "So, does your nephew pose a threat to us?"

"Not really, but I suppose we can't be too careful. I've been putting this off for far too long anyway."

"So..."

"Yes. It's time."

* * *

Notes:

I have sat on this chapter for far too long, and I fear that I must once again put this fic on hold – real life is unmerciful. And as always, I must apologise if the contents of this chapter seem more than a little garbled: I'm making up the details as I go along.

As always, comments, corrections and criticism will be accepted with (hopefully) good grace.


	10. 09: Another Morning

Blood

By Fool's Gold

Chapter Nine: Another Morning

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

Rock shot straight up in bed.

That was what he would have done, at least, if not for the fact that none of his muscles seemed to be responding to his command. What really happened was that his body, which hurt as though he'd just been in the fight of his life and lost, flopped uselessly on the bed on which he lay.

The memories began to seep slowly back into his consciousness. He'd woken up in the middle of the night and run all the way towards his uncle's mansion, possessed by the insane urge to settle accounts once and for all – even at the expense of his own life. Then he'd taken a guard hostage, and Hotaru's father had stepped out of the shadows and threatened to reveal everything...

The next thing he knew, he was awake and in his own bed, almost completely immobile.

The moon was still high in the sky: it had to be a dream, he knew. That was the only way to explain it. But why did he hurt so badly? He tipped his head gingerly to the side, looking towards the bedside drawer – and gritted his teeth as the ache in his head suddenly intensified. Something else was amiss.

Using what little strength remained, he worked his unwilling hand up to the back of his throbbing skull and gingerly patted the sore area. Somehow, he wasn't all that surprised to find the contusion there, a painful swelling that managed to seem larger than it felt. But what did puzzle him, though, was how it had got there in the first case.

_I must have hit it against the wall..._ but the thought wasn't very consoling. Something beyond the clock began to swim in and out of focus. Something red...

Rock blinked hard, now well and truly awake, and the image on the wall resolved itself into something more material. In fact, it more closely resembled a string of words, writ large in red and signed in an all-too-familiar name.

He looked again, just to make sure that he wasn't still caught in that dream he'd awoken from.

_Rock,_

_You owe me the following:_

_1.) An explanation_

_2.) A drink_

_3.) Payment for my medical bills_

_I'll collect the first two at work on Monday morning, ten-thirty. And if you don't turn up, I swear I'll rip out your kidneys and sell them to pay for the last item on the list._

_Yours painfully,_

_Dong Hwan_

Rock slumped down into the bed's warm embrace as he lapsed back into unconsciousness. It was definitely getting a lot clearer now...

* * *

Sunday afternoon in the Kim household:

"So let me get this straight. You saw Rock running around in the middle of the night, and so you snuck out of the house and trailed him?"

"Hn."

"...And then you say he ran all the way to Kain's mansion, whereupon he promptly proceeded to knock out the guards and take one of them hostage?"

"Yeah."

"...And then the henchman in the old Japanese robes turns up, and they start talking, and Rock goes berserk?"

"Yeah. I couldn't make much out, but it sounded like they wanted to negotiate and fell out."

"...And so you beat Rock over the head with a full-power Raimei Dan, dragged him back to his flat, broke in through the window, vandalised his wall with a threatening message, and gave Mom and Dad the excuse that you had 'only' snuck out to an early-morning party?"

"..."

"...Dong Hwan..."

"What?"

"...has anyone told you that you're the DUMBEST, CRAZIEST, MOST IRRESPONSIBLE MORON THAT I'VE EVER KNOWN?"

"You think that's bad? Bro, just wait till you meet the other guy."

Sunday afternoon in the Kim household, and all is well.

* * *

The crowd had gathered, drawn to the scene almost as irresistibly as the flies that were beginning to swarm around the body. He found both distasteful, the crowds especially: he never did like the way they pressed around him and hemmed him in. To him, it was all just another trap.

He shuddered. But what was all that to him? He had to see what had happened.

The people of Second Southtown regarded the scene with more than a little trepidation. They were on the verge of hysteria, checked only by the town's sheer inertia and the fact that it hadn't happened to them. He knew.

He passed through the crowd easily, weaving his way to the front without even touching any of the people who thronged the mouth of the alley. The police had got there first, and they'd done a very efficient job of sealing off the grisly find and managing the crowds.

A pity they hadn't been more efficient in tracking down the killer.

He heard them talking, and his honed senses picked up the threads of speech that the two policemen wove.

"...third one..."

"It _has_ to be him. Everything fits..." The burly one clenched his fists in the time-honoured symbol of frustration. "I know he's still out there. He's taunting us."

Kevin Rian. _He'll never learn... but that makes the hunt all the more enjoyable._

To watch the man trapped in mental torment, to feed off his pain and uncertainty and futile rage... It was not as good as the physical act of torture, certainly, but it would have to do for now. He would wait until Kain gave the signal.

He slipped away in the shadows, resisting the urge to lick the bloodstains off his hand.

* * *

They faced each other across the table in hostility.

"Guys... why can't you settle your issues like gentlemen?" Jae Hoon muttered, trapped uncomfortably between the blank stares that were being exchanged. The delay was getting on his nerves – how long had it been?

Neither one moved a muscle.

"Guys...?"

They looked as though their faces had been cast in stone; neither of them was willing to give any ground.

"Guys!"

There was still no response from either side. He could feel the pressure building up within the room, thick and heavy with the promise of violence...

"Seriously..." The exasperated Jae Hoon rolled his eyes and swatted both of them sharply on the skull, wondering if "driving the point into their heads" was meant to be taken literally. "Rock, we're trying to help..."

"Yeah," Dong Hwan muttered sarcastically, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead. "After all, if you're going to go bananas, it helps to have a reason for it."

"I said, we're trying to help – or at least, _I'm_ trying to help." Jae Hoon scowled darkly, giving his brother a warning glare. "What exactly happened?"

Rock refused to give up any of his secrets, choosing instead to look into the bottom of his empty glass with an intensity that scared even the Kim brothers. The dark shading that hid his eyes did nothing to help his appearance; to Jae Hoon, his friend reminded him of the more unsavoury criminals that he'd seen in Southtown before... and more likely than not, the insane ones.

"Rock?" Jae Hoon whispered, suddenly worried by his friend's unresponsiveness.

It took Rock a full minute to respond, and even then it was done in reluctance. But still, the shadow lifted, and he became the brooding, tortured teenager that they knew once again.

It was scarcely an improvement, Jae Hoon thought silently, but one counted their blessings at times like this.

"Fine." Rock's voice was hoarse. "I'll talk."

* * *

"Why don't you get a cup of tea for yourself, Hotaru?" Mrs. Yardsley asked warmly. "You look like you could use a little rest."

"Thank you, Mrs. Yardsley." Hotaru slowly walked into the kitchen, her mind still plagued by the uncertainty of her brother's words.

She hadn't told Rock anything – in fact, she hadn't even spoken to him in the past week, and it hurt her to keep her benefactor in the dark. But what could she tell him? It wasn't as though she understood anything herself... and now, more than ever, she felt her chase spiral out of control. Her brother had insinuated that much, at least, taunting her with his comments on their family strife. She knew nothing now; everything that she had come to accept as the truth was now crumbling around her. Until a week ago, she'd thought her father dead, her brother guilty, and Rock a kind person.

That had been a week ago. And now everything had changed.

Perhaps her father was alive – and her brother innocent. And if so, where did that leave her? Did she truly think herself capable of reuniting the shards of her family? Or would she merely be chasing yet another fleeting fantasy?

And when her brother had brought the name of Heinlein into her search, the waters had only become murkier. She briefly entertained a heresy: perhaps Rock's involvement was not a matter of kindness, but one of revenge...

Hotaru shook her head and poured out another cup of tea, walking slowly back to the living room. It wasn't good to be distracted on the job, and she hoped Mrs. Yardsley wouldn't notice the look on her face.

"You look troubled, Hotaru," the elderly woman noted, dispelling Hotaru's hopes to the contrary. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Oh, it's nothing, ma'am."

A wild idea coursed through Hotaru's mind – something that she would never have tried before. But the pent-up questions that she bore needed answers. And Rock had mentioned that he'd known Katherine Yardsley once...

_"It's nothing. Just don't tell her that I recommended you."_

Until a week ago, she would have acceded to his strange request. But now things were different. Still, she'd have to approach the matter obliquely.

_Forgive me, Rock. _"Mrs. Yardsley, I'm just curious, but..."

"Yes?"

"...what did you do before your retirement?"

"Oh, that." There was a chink of porcelain as the matron set her cup down on the table. "It's a long story."

* * *

"So, how far are we from Second Southtown, Mr. Anderson?" Bonne Jenet's voice rang loudly through the submarine, leaving small echoes in its wake.

"Given our current speed, about two hours away, cap'n."

"Good." She leant back in her chair and crossed her legs leisurely. "Carry on, then and wake me up when we get there."

With that, the young pirate captain fell into a sound slumber, and dreamt of gold.

* * *

"I guess it all started when Southtown was destroyed. You must have been about seven or eight at the time..."

"You're right; I remember having read about it in the news."

"Charles died in the blast." The light reflected off the old lady's spectacles, giving her eyes a watery shimmer. "I guess I needed something to do, to get my mind off the fact that he was dead. After all, it's not right for a woman to sit at home and laze around all day, right?"

That much was true. Hotaru listened distractedly, momentarily lost in a memory of her mother's last years, remembering every single hour that her mother had spent crying over the dead. If only she'd had something to numb the pain... Inwardly, the young girl admired Mrs. Yardsley for having had the strength to get over the loss – something she herself had never truly conquered.

"I needed a job anyway – staying on welfare wouldn't have worked, what with the whole relief system in pieces," the older woman's voice continued softly in the foreground. "So I got a job as a secretary. There was this opening in one of the surviving companies, and they seemed to be heavily involved in Southtown's reconstruction... I don't think you'll be familiar with the name, but it was one of the companies under the Heinlein consortium."

The name came as a shock, albeit one that Hotaru had, regrettably, anticipated.

Rock had been acquainted with her current employer, but she simply hadn't seen the link between the two. At a time, she wondered if they'd been neighbours, or perhaps someone whom Terry had helped in the past... but the mention of Heinlein's name threw a different light over what she already knew.

Still, the news meant nothing. It was common knowledge that the Heinlein consortium ran more than half of Second Southtown's industry. In fact, if Mrs. Yardsley _hadn't_ worked for Kain, it would have been the exception rather than the rule. It should have been no surprise... but for the fact that Rock was involved, through some unknown means, in the whole business.

Hotaru pondered all this, and nodded in acknowledgement.

Mrs. Yardsley went on, clearly grateful to have a listening ear on hand, "I know, I know... you're going to say that Mr. Heinlein has some dubious connections to the underground. Not that I approve of gossip, but..." She raised her cup to her lips primly, leaving the sentence hanging in midair.

"I wouldn't know, Mrs. Yardsley." Hotaru didn't like the duplicity of her actions: to have denied Kain's criminal actions was impossible, not after she had witnessed the man's true intent at the tournament. But she certainly did not want to tar her employer with the same brush.

"Well, it's so much easier to see everything with the benefit of hindsight, isn't it? But at the time, Kain Heinlein was just another entrepreneur, and a philanthropic one to boot. He was always involved in the major reconstruction projects, and saying how Southtown would rise from the ashes..." Mrs. Yardsley sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Anyway, I worked at their branch company for about, say, eight years, and then I was posted to their main office. You're familiar with the Heinlein Tower, aren't you? You know, the one they called 'Geese Tower' back in the old days?"

The first time Hotaru had noticed the edifice, Rock had explained its history to her – but not without distaste. _"Over there, the scum always floats to the top."_

"Well, I worked in that building until about three months ago." There was a chink of porcelain as Mrs. Yardsley set her cup back down onto the table. "I suppose that's about it. Why did you ask?"

"Oh... nothing, really." Hotaru finished her drink, taking care not to let the line of questioning go out of control. "I was just wondering... Oh!" she suddenly piped up, a twinkle in her eyes. "Did you say something about 'gossip' just now?" She latched onto the provided opening tenaciously.

"And you seemed like such a nice girl, too..." the older woman noted in jest, with the faintest hint of disapproval. "Well, don't tell anyone I said anything, but..." She leant over conspiratorially, the laugh lines on her face vanishing. "It seems that the rumours about Kain being an underworld boss are more than just talk."

"Really?" Hotaru joined in their little charade, lowering her voice to a soft whisper.

"Yes. It's not anything you'd discover by going through their documents, I can assure you – I pored through those for three years straight and didn't find anything amiss. But it turns out that I'd also spent those last three years as secretary to a rather nasty piece of work."

Their talk had suddenly taken a serious turn, but Hotaru tried to keep the older woman's spirits up. "So, who was it? Some overdressed psychopath who carries knives in his pocket? A mysterious fighter whose face is always hidden behind a mask? Or was it a foreigner in Oriental robes who only speaks in monosyllables?" She dropped in the last reference as casually as she could, hoping that she would be able to glean some information pertinent to her brother's work in Second Southtown.

"No, no, nothing like that," Mrs. Yardsley laughed, "nothing that would catch your imagination like that. In fact, I'd never have suspected him at all."

"So you mean... like Kain? I mean, he looks like quite the gentleman..."

"It's funny you should mention that, but..." Her brow creased in recollection. "Come to think about it, that boy looked almost exactly like Kain."

* * *

Rock tossed back his drink in one swift gulp, hoping that it would calm his nerves as much as it soothed his parched throat. It didn't help either way. "Okay... where do I start?"

"Well," Dong Hwan muttered caustically, "You _could_ start by telling us just why you were running around in the middle of the night."

"Oh, sorry." Rock ran his fingers tiredly through his hair, slumping forwards over his now-empty glass. "I... I don't know. I guess I just felt that it was time."

"Time?" Jae Hoon queried, uncomprehending.

"Yeah..." Rock picked up the bottle that lay on the table and poured himself another glass of amber liquid. "I'm stuck. If I go to the police, I set myself up to be exposed; and if I leave things as they are, Kain's gonna continue ruling this town. So," he knocked back the entire glass in one shot, "which option would you choose? Nothing works. Then I had this crazy idea that somehow, if I threatened to air my uncle's dirty laundry, maybe he'd just give up the whole 'taking over Second Southtown' idea."

He sighed. "I guess I forgot. When it comes to bluffing, my uncle reigns supreme." The glass was filled again, and drained just as quickly – and Rock was becoming more and more despondent by the minute. Dong Hwan cast a worried glance at the half-empty bottle.

"Well, that's interesting. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He slipped out of his seat and slunk over to the bar, where Duck King was wiping the mugs.

"Hey, Duck..."

"Hmm?"

"What's in the bottle?" Dong Hwan challenged, keeping a wary eye on the proceedings at their table.

"Ah, dat. Jus' one of my special homemade brews, made from da best hops, malt, ya know..."

"Yeah, yeah... but how much alcohol is in that thing?"

"Ya really wanna know?" Duck King pulled Dong Hwan's head down, whispering the closely-guarded secret into the bouncer's ear...

"None."

Dong Hwan gave a start. "What?"

"It's a bartender's trick, yo. Ya usually use it when da fella's too drunk to notice, and fer his own good. But it seems ta work equally well on our fren' over dere – not dat da drink would help anyways." Duck King glanced over at Rock, looking him over with the eyes of a man who was well-acquainted with the troubles of life. "Rock's havin' it rough. I dunno what's da problem, an' it's probably none of mah business... but go easy on 'im, 'kay? He could use yo' support."

Surprisingly, the normally unshakeable Dong Hwan now bore a chagrined look on his face. "Yeah, I know. Guess I'm just a sore winner." He grimaced, patting the spot on his stomach where Rock's fist had landed – and realising that it could have been far, far worse. But there still remained a part of him that was annoyed by it; he still didn't know what Rock had been up to, or the reason for his sudden madness...

Still, Rock was their friend. And as far as he knew, a part of that duty obviously involved keeping the idiot out of trouble.

"Thanks, Duck." He flipped his hand in acknowledgement.

Duck King's white teeth showed up almost as starkly as his garish hair. "No problem."

* * *

"Hey, Thomas! How's the shoulder doing?" the truck driver called to his companion, who slid into the front passenger seat and closed the door with his only available hand.

"Not too good, Harold." As if to emphasise the point, he cradled the sling that held his other arm in place. "Man, it feels terrible, like some guy hit me with a taser. Doc says I won't be able to use it for a week. How's Richard?"

"He hasn't got over the shock yet. Poor bugger's been assigned to the security detail at the press conference."

"Yeah, poor guy..."

The two employees sat in their seats in a moment of silence, commiserating over their absent co-worker's condition in the wake of Saturday night's attack.

"Come on," Thomas said eventually. "We've got to be at the power plant by six."

The truck shifted gears and trundled out of the warehouse, carrying its terrible cargo as uneasily as the men who drove it.

* * *

"Anyway, I guess I ruined things, didn't I?" Rock mumbled, not even noticing when Dong Hwan returned to their table and snatched the bottle out of his hands. Jae Hoon gave his brother what would only have been described as the 'hairy eyeball', but Dong Hwan merely shrugged it off and took a huge swig.

"Yeah, you did," were his first words. "You didn't have to hit me so hard, did you?"

"Sorry," Rock remarked with a sheepish, sad smile. "I was out of my mind at the time..."

Dong Hwan mulled over those words for a while.

"Aw, fuggeddabout it," he eventually drawled, pulling back into the seat. "Just so you know, I have Duck King's word that this stuff isn't alcoholic, so you can stop staring at me like that, Jae."

"Oh, really?" his brother remarked, raising his eyebrows warily before returning to the matter at hand. "Anyway, we've established that you were ready to trade your liberty away in order to see Kain brought low – and frankly, it takes guts to do that." A hand reached over towards Rock, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. "At least you tried."

The words of encouragement only served dragged Rock's spirits down, as he replied deprecatingly, "We all know what paves the road to Hell, Jae. And if we're going to be frank, I should never have gone there in the first place. Now... I've given my uncle another weapon to use against me." There was a slight pause as the next sentence formed uneasily in his mind. "I don't know how I'm going to answer for it."

It was a time before anyone spoke, and it was Jae Hoon who broke the silence. "What stopped you from carrying your threat through?" he asked delicately. But Rock remained tight-lipped.

"You mean, _who_ stopped him," Dong Hwan corrected, and watched as Rock's head suddenly rose up in horror. "I hate to blow your cover, Rock, but I heard your talk. Face it, pal, chivalry's dead – even if it is a nice sentiment to hold on to. So, who's the damsel in distress?"

Rock's shocked expression was priceless. It hung on his face for an instant, and then disappeared behind the curtain of morose denial that was hurriedly raised. "Who said anything about a girl?"

"You did," Dong Hwan retorted.

"Dong!" Jae snapped, using an epithet which he would rather have avoided. "Rock, we've got your interests at heart here. Trust me, we don't want to get anyone else involved – but if somebody else already is, then she might be in trouble. And hiding the truth isn't going to help."

"He's right." Dong Hwan's face had lost its smug smirk now. "If we're going to get to the bottom of this, you're going to have to tell us the whole story. Either that, or we might find ourselves with more than guilty consciences on our hands."

Rock sat there, unmoving and unsure. What could they do that he hadn't already done? A derisive snort escaped him. "Even if I told you, it wouldn't do any good."

"Who says?" Jae Hoon was indignant. "We could notify the police, or we could make arrangements to protect her from harm. Anything's better than sitting around and waiting for the next blow to fall."

He was right in principle, Rock realised: stalling wouldn't change anything. But Jae Hoon had made a mistake – he had automatically assumed that the danger was a physical threat. And therein lay the problem.

If it had been a situation which he could have solved with his fists alone, it would have been settled long before. But the problem that he faced was more than that – it was a game of threats and counter-threats, of feints and bluffs... and he had rushed into it blindly. This wasn't the game Terry had trained him to play. And so, when he found himself cornered by shadows, when the intangible assaults pressed against him from all sides, what had he done? He'd responded the only way he knew: with violence. And it hadn't solved anything.

Perhaps it was time to delegate the fight to people who knew better. But still, what could they do?

He laughed bitterly, startling the brothers. "It's too late now. As a matter of fact, we're five years too late."

"What are you talking about?" Jae Hoon's asked sharply.

"You mean, _who_," Rock mocked. "And the girl in question is Hotaru Futaba."

* * *

The revelation horrified Hotaru, but something more terrible overwhelmed it: a dawning realisation that she, in some part of her heart, had expected such a response.

Rock's animosity towards his uncle now seemed perplexing, even hypocritical; he'd openly condemned the man, denounced his ways... and now there came this woman, who claimed that the young man who had done all this had also been a part of Kain's plans – no, had actively participated in them, and even had a hand in carrying them out?

She didn't want to believe it, but she did.

"What happened?" She picked up her cup with shaky hands, hoping that they would not betray her insecurity.

"You wouldn't believe it, even if I told you." The hurt look on Mrs. Yardsley's face sent a pang of despair through Hotaru; what had Rock done? "He seemed like such a nice boy... a little young to join the administrative department, I'll grant, but we didn't see anything amiss. Kain said he 'had a knack for sorting things out'," she said, her hands waving vaguely as they mirrored the statement. "Three whole years, and I didn't see anything wrong."

Her fingers were interlocked tightly, a reflection of her perceived betrayal. "Then, one day, he threatened me and told me to quit my job."

Hotaru's fingers gripped the edge of the seat tightly.

"I don't know why he did it, or what came over him." The older woman shook her head sadly. "He said something about the place being rotten, or something like that – it's been such a long while, I can't remember exactly. The next thing I knew, he'd destroyed his own office."

"No..."

"I saw it with my own eyes, Hotaru. The entire room had been wrecked. It was almost as though a hurricane had gone through it..." The images flashed before Mrs. Yardsley's eyes in vivid detail, as raw and horrific as it had been on the day itself. "Anyway, from what I heard, he fought his way down to the ground floor and savaged the security guards who had been sent to stop him. He... he was like a monster. Mr. Heinlein even came down himself to stop the fight, but the boy beat him."

"Why?" Hotaru blurted out in utter disbelief, unwittingly exposing her true sentiments. This was nothing like the Rock she knew – the person in Katherine Yardsley's tale was a brutish thug, primed to destroy.

"Like I said, I don't know. Anyway, he just walked out after that like it was nothing. Mr. Heinlein fired him formally in absentia the next day, and a good thing too. I wouldn't want that sort of person around the office either."

It was Hotaru's innate gentleness that stopped her from breaking out in vehement denial. The Rock she knew wasn't anything like that –

Was he?

The dreadful thought struck her: she didn't really know him, did she? All she'd seen was what he'd chosen to reveal – and it suddenly occurred to her that he'd been strangely reticent about his own life. Rock had been perfectly comfortable when talking about Second Southtown, and he hadn't seemed unwilling to discuss the details of her search, but when it came to his activities in the past years... It was a topic he'd assiduously avoided, and always with a guilty look on his face.

Now she knew the reason why.

"And you retired soon after," she murmured tiredly, still trying to come to grips with what she was being told. No wonder Rock had sworn her to secrecy...

"Yes. It just didn't feel right... I don't know what Kain was thinking, hiring that madman – administration, my foot! Did you know, there were rumours that he was the son of Geese Howard... and I wouldn't put it past him, from the way he fought." Mrs. Yardsley rubbed her eyelids lightly, wondering aloud. "So Kain was probably involved in some dirty business, and that boy wasn't up to any good either... Oh, it doesn't matter anymore. I'm retired, and the least they can do is let an old woman have some peace and quiet."

A soft whisper left Hotaru's lips, almost for her own benefit, "So... does it matter who rules the town?"

"Dear, dear... you're obviously new to the town," her employer said, dismissing the accusation in a manner that seemed too superficial for even Hotaru to accept. "Criminal or not, Kain R. Heinlein's the best thing that's come to Second Southtown ever since the place was founded. He brings order and stability to our lives, something we haven't seen in ages. And he was responsible for driving out the gangs..."

"Only to replace them with one of his own."

"Hotaru, dear, you're too naïve for your own good. For those of us who've lived in Southtown all our lives, we learnt one thing quickly: any degree of order, even a criminal one, is preferable to the chaos that would ensue without it." The eyes of Katherine Yardsley were uncharacteristically flinty now, standing out like hard diamonds against her soft face. "And judging from what I've seen of the chaos, I like the order quite fine, thank you. Now, would you mind helping me bring the cups back into the kitchen?"

That was the end of the argument. No answers gleaned, but only more questions that should never have been asked in the first case. And Hotaru found herself saddled with even more questions, and no leads as to where the answers would be found.

She was at a dead end now, and her pursuit was being rapidly diverted in another direction – one that led back to a red-eyed boy...

* * *

Dong Hwan merely cocked an eyebrow in surprise at the news, but his mouth had been temporarily stilled by the sudden announcement. They hadn't known that the girl with the ferret had arrived in Second Southtown.

He sat back for the time being, willing to let his brother do the talking.

"I... I didn't know," Jae Hoon said slowly, still trying to absorb the news he'd been told. It wasn't an unpleasant surprise, but it didn't sit well with him either. "What's she doing here?"

"She's still looking for her brother," came Rock's bitter reply. "And you know what the funny thing is? She'll probably find him. In fact, she'll find out more than she bargained for when she accepted my offer to help."

Jae Hoon's memory was jolted into action by Rock's hints. "So, you're saying that Kain's right-hand man..."

"Far from it. That's her father. Her brother was supposed to have killed him, but something went wrong in the attempt. And now her brother's looking for their father, and she's looking for her brother, and when they meet they'll be one big happy family again. Isn't that wonderful? And so her father threatened that if the truth got out, it would expose both of us, and then we'd just wreck her life. And then she'll end up like me..."

He stared worriedly at Rock. The young man was fey – hardly the kind of mentality they wanted at a time like this. And after all, that kind of madness was just one step away from the violent kind.

He did the only thing that seemed right – he reached out and struck Rock hard across the face.

"Snap out of it, Rock!" he ordered in a stern voice reminiscent of his father's. "I know it's hard for you, but babbling like an idiot isn't going to help at all! If you consider yourself in any way a man, pull yourself together and listen to me!"

The angry weal stared back at him from Rock's face accusingly. He couldn't believe that he'd just done it either, but he forced himself to carry on: "Look, I can see it's affecting you really badly. But you have to remain in control of your faculties if you're going to be of any help to her." A sudden thought ran through him as he recognised the tell-tale signs. "Besides, I don't think you want her to see you like this, right?"

Shamed eyes stared back at him, but no words came from Rock's lips.

"I guessed as much." Jae sighed, sitting back in his seat. It was always the same old story... and he'd been there before. "You _really_ don't want her to see you like this..."

"I don't want her to see me, full stop." The mad ramble had regressed to a dull monotone now, one that reeked of sullenness and sulking.

_Well, that's new._ "Why not?"

The table shook as Rock slammed his palms onto the seasoned wood. "It should be obvious, Jae. Take a look at me. It's bad enough that I'm born from a line of criminals, and worse that I went back into the underworld. But now... I have to be the one to break the news to her."

It was no coincidence that the phrase, "don't shoot the messenger" came to Jae Hoon's mind. "How much does she know?" he asked, a logical continuation of his enquiry.

Fortunately, Rock proved to be very responsive to their questioning; Jae Hoon sensed that the young man, more than anything, wanted to unload this burden that he'd been carrying – and so the words spilled out, rushing from his lips, unchecked by the need for secrecy.

"If you're talking about my history, I can't be sure. I've been really careful not to tell her anything... but I can't make any guarantees." Rock's mind flashed back to his job recommendations: had it been a mistake? Whatever the case, it was too late. He continued, his voice a bland mask over his bitterness, "The same goes for how much she knows about her family. Anything she knows..."

Dong Hwan finally looked up from his silence, his expression sober. "What about her family? How much do they know?"

"You were there, Dong Hwan. Her father knows she's in town, and he didn't hesitate to use that knowledge against me – and since he works for Kain, he knows all about me. Her brother... I haven't seen him in this town at all." As Rock spoke those words, a new sense of helplessness came over him: was Hotaru's search was nothing but a wild-goose chase? Had she come all the way back to Second Southtown only to be used, through some evil twist of fate, as a threat and a weapon?

He knew he was useless. Everything he had done had gone wrong, from the moment he'd volunteered to help, all the way through to his 'recruitment' of Terry into the search...

"Oh, no..."

* * *

"Terry?"

"Hey, babe. How's work?"

"Miserable. Ever since Kain announced that he'd be holding a press conference, our people have been stretched thin. We're practically all over the place trying to secure the venue, and we have to get everything settled by this evening..."

"I didn't know you placed such a high priority over Kain's security."

"Who said anything about _his_ security? We're trying to make sure that he doesn't try anything funny. As a matter of fact, HQ has to assign at least three officers for every bodyguard he brings."

"I guessed as much..."

"And to make matters worse, we found a third body in an alley this morning. Kevin is dead sure – pardon the expression – that it's Freeman's doing. I think he wants his revenge too badly, of course, but that doesn't change the fact that the MO fits the bill. The mood around here... everyone's on tenterhooks. The office is nearly empty, too. I'd be out there, if not for the training lessons we've got on at the grounds. Personally, I smell a rat."

"You're not the only one – hey, gotta go. A new delivery just came in. Take care, okay?"

"Yeah, you too."

* * *

"What is it, Rock?"

The blond head sank back down onto the table in despair. "I remember now – and I wish I hadn't had it in the first place."

"What are you talking about?" Dong Hwan asked, irritated.

"Look, I need someone else to tell her. I can't go through with this – she'll hate me forever. But if she ever needs to know..."

"Whoa, whoa." Dong Hwan raised his hands, signalling for Rock to stop. "What's going on here?"

"Terry and Mary passed me a huge envelope on Saturday afternoon, a whole load of information pertaining to Hotaru's brother – and, by extension, Hotaru's father. By rights, I should have handed it over to her straight away, but I never delivered it."

Dong Hwan pursed his lips hard. "A little irresponsible, don't you think?"

"What could I do?" Rock spread out his palms in despair, keeping his head low. "If I tell her, she'll be broken – just like I was. I don't want her to go through her entire life with the stigma of her family attached to her. Her brother's a bad enough case, and if I were to bring her father into the picture..."

The Kim brothers sympathised. It was hard enough to accept the truth, as unpalatable as it was, and even more heartbreaking to have to tell it to another; yet another part of them felt that it wasn't right to withhold it from the one who, more than anyone, had the right to know.

Jae Hoon was the one who spelled out the other alternative, blunt and cruel as it sounded. "Would you rather see her remain on the path she has chosen, wandering around for the rest of her life without closure or a conclusion? Or have you forgotten the three years you spent working for Kain? Have you forgotten your mother?"

There was no response. Rock's upper body remained splayed across the table, resembling not so much a man as it did a rag doll, limp and lifeless.

"I think you overdid it this time, bro." Dong Hwan looked down at his friend warily.

"Rock?" Jae Hoon reached over, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. To their surprise, Rock responded but his voice was almost completely devoid of spirit – he sounded as though all the will to fight had been sucked out of him.

"I hear you... and I don't know what to do."

* * *

"Well, Mr. Futaba... It would seem that everything is going according to schedule."

"I wouldn't get too confident too quickly, Mr. Heinlein. You know what's said about the best-made plans..." Goto advised. He wondered if that boy would continue to cause trouble – one could never be sure when it came to desperate men.

"Of course. Organise the men and have them move out. Incidentally, I'll need you to be at the press conference."

"What for? Shouldn't your men be enough for the sake of security?"

"Oh, you never know. I'm sure that the people of Second Southtown won't be too happy when I make my announcement." Kain got up from his seat and adjusted his tie, making sure his appearance was immaculate. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must prepare for the speech," he said, speaking in a smug voice that sounded a little too confident.

_Of course, I don't think you'll be too happy either._

* * *

Notes:

I have an editor!

Rubberchicken: Thanks for volunteering. I really like your style of writing – I remember "Divine Intervention", and therefore I have no doubts that you'll be able to do a great job.

El Fuego Corruptado: grins nervously Well, I can't say that my knowledge of SNK's geography/history is any good – I've definitely taken a lot of liberties with it. I'm not sure if I'll make the change at this stage, but your comments have been taken into account. Thank you for the feedback. (And incidentally, I still don't see the true difference between a "live-house" – which I remember as the original term used in-game – and a "club", taken broadly.)

Everyone else (and esp. Peachrocks, who's been with this fic since its early chapters): Thanks for sticking with me. It's been a long fic, and I hope you'll all be gratified to note that we're reaching the crucial turning point.

Just some general comments:

Yes, manic rambling is a convenient way to make people divulge their deepest secrets.

The non-alcoholic bottle of "beer" is not an injunction against drinking, but merely my refusal to get characters drunk at ten-thirty in the morning. Some things are just not done.

Welcome back to the world of stereotypes, where the grand old dames sip tea from china cups in the morning and the African-Americans speak with odd accents. Apologies to anyone offended by the portrayals.


	11. 10: Resignation

Blood

Chapter 10: Resignation

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

They hadn't been able to help, just as Rock had predicted. The only thing that their efforts had produced was an ever-increasing cloud of despair that lingered on in the bar, even after its origin had departed for his home.

Jae Hoon, for one, was not particularly delighted with the present state of affairs. It hadn't helped that his hand had contributed, in part, to Rock's depressed departure; on the other hand, though, the question remained as to whether anything could have been done to make their friend's mood any worse that it had already been. Certainly, their dialogue hadn't helped.

"Was I too hard on him?" he mused aloud, to nobody in particular.

"Nah."

Dong Hwan stepped up to the entrance, standing alongside his brother. His words were jovial, but the look on his face bore just a hint of worry – and to an experienced observer like Jae Hoon, that hint was impossibly blatant.

"You know, Jae..." His elder brother's hands braced themselves against the railing and pulled away just as quickly, numbed by the cold metal. "Yow! We've got a cold front coming in. Wouldn't be surprised if it started to snow tonight."

"You don't say," he replied distractedly.

"Personally... if I'd been in your shoes, I'd have slugged him a good one. I think he had it coming."

Jae Hoon turned on his brother, a horrified expression mounting in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Dong Hwan shrugged in response, a meaningless gesture that seemed almost callous. "Now, don't say that I'm being vindictive because of Saturday's beating –"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"– but I can't help but notice that every time we've met him, he's done nothing but whine about how miserable his life is, and how evil his uncle is, and how he can't do anything about it. It's tiring, even if it is grounded in truth."

"Glad to see you realised that," Jae Hoon admonished, "and besides, it's not like he hasn't tried. But still..." He turned pensive and left his sentence unfinished.

"Hmm?"

"Think about it, Dong Hwan. Rock worked for Kain as an enforcer, and left his employ alive, which I suppose would be a rare enough occurrence. I still don't know why Kain's let him get away with it so far." Jae Hoon began to number off the points against his fingers. "He's got – correction, he _is_ – first-hand evidence of Kain's dealings, vital information that could break the backbone of the underworld in Second Southtown. And we definitely know that Kain's up to something..."

"Yeah, yeah," his brother muttered. "How many times have I heard that today?"

"Not enough, it seems. My point is that if Kain actually does try anything, Rock's going to be in a lot of trouble." Jae Hoon leant against the banister and sighed as he watched the traffic go by. "Think about it. With that much evidence in his hands, Rock would probably be Kain's primary target. And even if Kain doesn't try to eliminate Rock – not that he'd be very easy to take out – there's still the matter of Rock's own mood."

"I can imagine. He'd probably try something stupid. Believe me, I know that much," Dong Hwan noted wryly. "Speaking of which, there's another point you can add to the list: Hotaru. I don't think any of us could have expected this turn of events, and with Rock's hopeless 'woe is me' pining, it..."

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the truck that trundled its way down the road. Dong Hwan noted the logo on its side with irritation: _Looks like Cheng's Electronics really take after their old boss: slow, heavy, and always getting involved in other people's business._ Of course, now that the Heinlein consortium had bought it over – as it had done for most companies in Second Southtown – it just wasn't the same anymore.

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"Stupid deliverymen. Anyway, he kinda reminded me of you, you know, back in the days when you and Jun first started dating," Dong Hwan jibed.

It was strangely gratifying for him to catch his younger brother's expression of disbelief, which hung there for what seemed like an eternity. At least that was how it seemed to the embarrassed Jae Hoon, who denied everything. "I never did anything like that."

Dong Hwan sniggered. "Sure you didn't. Don't tell me he doesn't remind you of a lovesick fool. And now that he's discovered that his lady love's father works for Kain... he's all the more likely to keep things covered up, and all the more likely to do something stupid when the time comes."

The thought had crossed Jae Hoon's mind during their meeting, but there was no point in repeating what they both already knew. "Point taken," he retorted irritably. "Anyway, the fact remains that we're long overdue for a storm. And if Rock doesn't do anything, I fear that he'll be caught in its eye when it breaks."

The scepticism in Dong Hwan's voice nearly masked the suspicion that lay beneath it. "What makes you think that?"

"Did you read the news this morning?"

"Nah."

"You should. But just to make my point clear..." Jae Hoon drew out a copy of the morning news from inside his jacket and handed it to his brother. "Here, check out the front page: it might give you something to think about. In the meantime, I need to get back to the gym."

Dong Hwan took the papers, puzzled. "Well, see ya, bro."

"Later." With that, Jae Hoon walked off, leaving Dong Hwan to glance over the newspaper's contents. As if his brother's hint hadn't been clear enough, the day's headlines stood out starkly, in words so bold it almost hurt to look at them: **Heinlein announces latest project – press conference today**

"You don't say..."

* * *

"Are we there yet, Mr. Anderson?" Bonne Jenet asked impatiently, all attempts at slumber having failed miserably. Somehow, the thoughts of cold, hard cash were enough to keep a woman on her toes – and most definitely this one, who knew profit when she smelled it.

"Yes, ma'am. Shall we go to the usual place?"

She pinched her chin, thinking hard about the ramifications of surfacing at Blue Wave Harbour once more. She didn't really like the feel of their latest job, even if it did pay well, and it would have been wise to stick to familiar ground. But on the other hand, their client had insisted on the meeting point... and the police probably still remembered their earlier forays into Second Southtown via that harbour.

"No." She dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "We'll wait up north between the mainland and the island, and send a boat around the western side to make the pickup. I'll personally escort our 'esteemed guest' back to the ship." There was a scornful note in her voice.

"Miss Jenet..." the first mate objected, "isn't going up alone a little dangerous? I mean, our client..."

"Oh, don't worry about that," she laughed. "The man may be a scumbag, but at least he _pretends_ to be a gentleman. And besides, we're his only ticket out of here, so he probably won't try any funny business."

"Are you sure...?" The elderly man doted on her, short fuse and all, and didn't really like the idea of their captain putting herself at risk – not after what had happened during the last delivery. He knew the crew would have had similar objections.

"Of course! Now send out the orders to the rest of the crew, if you please. We've got plenty of time, and if we're going to collect our pay at the end of the day... this'll have to be flawless."

"Aye aye, ma'am!"

* * *

The policeman at the entrance of the Southtown Expo looked the deliverymen over with a wary eye. "We're expecting Harold Newman and Thomas Chandra from Cheng's Electronics... That means you two, I presume." The sniffer dog beside him growled at them, sharing his sentiment.

"Yeah, that's us." Harold pointed to the truck with his good hand, where the workmen were already unloading their precious cargo under the careful supervision of Kain's security guards.

"Well, your faces match..." the officer muttered reluctantly, looking back at the checklist he'd been issued. "I'll need to check the crate, though."

"No, it's okay." Thomas had already moved to the back of the truck and was helping to open the box up for inspection. "Be careful, though – this stuff is delicate." The wooden panel on one side fell away, revealing the black casing of what looked more like a giant water tank.

"What's it supposed to be?" The policeman was naturally suspicious when it came to large black containers without labels, and he wasn't going to let a potential bomb anywhere near the building unchallenged. "Looks dangerous."

Harold stuck to the cover that they'd prepared. "It's supposed to be a demonstration of Mr. Heinlein's latest project, some sort of portable generator." As far as the police knew, that was true – they'd made Kain submit a complete inventory before issuing the license. "He says it'll revolutionise the power industry."

"I'll have to take a look inside the 'generator' itself, then."

Harold and Thomas exchanged worried glances. This was something they'd expected but hadn't prepared for, even if Kain had assured them that it would pass inspection: they didn't want to be caught with explosives in their possession. Besides, Kain had also cautioned them over the equipment's delicate state, and neither of the two wanted to handle the bomb any more than was necessary. But if they failed to comply, that would only arouse more suspicion...

"Is something the problem, gentlemen?"

"No problem, officer." Thomas worked the lid open gingerly, exposing the device's inner works with trepidation while Harold held his breath, his hand itching for a pistol as he prepared for the worst. This was it: the gig was up, and Kain had set them up for the fall. Thomas slowly removed the cover, barely daring to look into the case...

"Hmm. Looks normal to me," the policeman said, startling Harold into a fit of coughing.

In fact, it looked exactly as a portable generator should have, except that it took up a lot more space – empty space too, judging from the hollow chamber that didn't seem to serve any purpose. The sniffer dog padded towards it slowly, then abruptly sank down on its haunches and whined, giving its controller a look of confusion.

"I thought advanced technology these days was about making things smaller, not bigger." The policeman scratched his head in puzzlement. Something was wrong about this, but he couldn't place his finger on it... and besides, the dog hadn't noticed anything wrong with it either. "Okay, it's cleared."

The other workers began to move the black monolith into the main hall, leaving the deliverymen to continue puzzling over the true nature of their cargo.

"I thought he said it was a..."

"Don't say it, Harold. Just don't say it."

* * *

_I, the undersigned, do solemnly declare that everything written in this statement is true._

Rock's hand dropped to his side as he looked back, completely drained, on the words he'd written. Perhaps they'd forgive him for this: it was what they wanted, wasn't it? It would cost him everything he'd known, but he'd do it. Jae Hoon had been right – it was time to bring an end to the foolish charade which he'd embarked on for the past few months. And now he held the cords to the final curtain in his hands.

He hoped his mother wouldn't be saddened by this sudden turnaround. It was she who, when all other threats and incentives had failed, had finally spurred him to do the impossible. As her son, he had to discharge his duty and settle accounts with his uncle. It was the only thing he could have done to avenge her – her isolated life, her unmourned death... and most of all, the way in which her memory had been posthumously abused.

_It's personal as well, isn't it?_ a familiar voice whispered. And in response, he only smiled. He no longer argued with it – for once, they were in agreement.

Yes, this was about his revenge as well. His motives were not pure: he had never pretended that they were. It was just coincidence that what he now did would be for the greater good of Second Southtown. The others – the ones who had helped him settle into a brief moment of regular life, and at the same time reluctantly urged him to sacrifice it – they could keep their noble ideals. And if his revenge would help them in their struggle, it would be all the better.

Rock's gaze shifted back to the other, bulkier package that rested on the table – the one that Terry had given him a while ago. There lay another set of family accounts that would have to be settled. He wondered what Hotaru would do with the information given: would she follow in his guilty footsteps and seek out her father and brother, to purge the stain of shame from her family name? But he knew she was wiser than that – she would entreat them to leave their lives of killing, all in vain. And she would hate him doubly: first for hiding the truth from her, and second for revealing it.

It wouldn't matter anyway. Forgiveness didn't count where he was headed. All that mattered was that she would know the truth, something which he had been denied.

He lifted his pen back up to the table and appended his signature to the confession with a surprisingly steady hand – the confidence of a condemned man.

* * *

It was time, and Kain's men knew it. They were almost sick from the waiting, and the atmosphere that pervaded the lobby of the convention centre was one of tense anticipation.

Goto considered himself exempt from such trivial emotions, but even he was not immune to the mounting tension that exuded from his subordinates. He lounged in a distant corner, seemingly disinterested in the proceedings, but his eyes continued to scan the hall from behind half-closed eyelids.

One of the henchmen in particular caught his attention, a young man with a nervous disposition; that man had been the unfortunate hostage from Saturday's... incident. _What was Kain thinking? If this man should mess up – and from the looks of things, it may be very likely – our plans will be dashed. Kain's become cocky..._

There were too many things that could go wrong. A shot out of carelessness, a misplaced word, a rogue element – or two, even. Kain could not have ignored the possibility of his nephew's intervention, from desperation or insanity; Goto was not willing to rule out his son, who would probably let their feud spill over into his work. 'The best laid plans', as they said, had a tendency to go wrong at the worst possible times. Even now, there were at least two policemen for every one of Kain's men in the hall; the situation would be disadvantageous for them if they tried to act out of hand.

It wasn't that Goto was worried; he simply considered the situation like a seasoned analyst, picking apart the holes in the plan. Kain must surely have considered all this, Goto thought. The crimelord hadn't risen to the top of Southtown's underworld by being reckless – but this uncharacteristic carelessness smacked of sheer overconfidence.

_Which means, of course, that he has an ace up his sleeve... and he didn't bother telling us about it._ It just gave him another reason to distrust the man – not that he'd ever trusted him in the first place. Their alliance was merely one of convenience, and he, at least, thought it was on rather shaky ground.

Goto stalked towards the entrance leisurely, and opened the doors into the wind-blasted outdoors. The wind had picked up in strength, and not even the greediest paparazzo would have gone out into this sort of weather for the sake of earning his keep. Those who had turned up for the conference had also wisely decided to stay within the sheltered confines of the hall.

Kain had certainly picked an opportune time to act.

A black limousine pulled up to a halt before the Expo, and its passenger stepped out into the freezing air. Kain, it seemed, was in a relatively good mood, and Goto didn't fault him.

Still, he decided to warn him about the possibility of failure. "Mr. Heinlein..." he began, escorting his employer up the front steps. But Kain paused in his ascent, turning away from the entrance and facing the city.

"It's been a while..."

"Mr. Heinlein?" Goto repeated. "The conference is about to start soon."

"I know, I know," Kain replied, mildly amused by his right-hand man's urgency. "I just wanted to enjoy the weather."

Goto stared hard at Kain's back. "With all due respect, Kain... you must be joking. The weather forecast predicts that this winter is going to be the harshest one in fifteen years." As if to illustrate his point, a snowflake suddenly drifted lazily onto Kain's outstretched hand, with many more following in its wake. "I'm going in first. The audience is waiting." He turned back and began to walk away, leaving Kain to 'enjoy' the first snowfall of winter.

The most powerful man in Second Southtown waited for Goto to depart before murmuring, "So, the east wind finally blows..." But it only howled in response, whipping up a shower of snow about his face. He would have to go in soon.

_Grant, Marie... this is for you._ And with that, Kain turned his back on the town and entered the convention centre.

* * *

Gato bunched his fists, crushing the sheet of paper into a compact mass before hurling it away. So, the old fool had finally decided to end their feud, had he?

_It's time._

He bounded across the rooftops, moving steadily towards his appointment.

* * *

"Turn up the thermostat, dear," Myun called out. "It's getting cold."

Over in the living room, Kim plodded reluctantly towards the central heater, his movements slowed by the numbing chill. Back in his younger days, he would have shrugged off weather like this in youthful abandon, claiming that the fires of Justice would keep him warm. But things had changed.

His old wound ached, and it was more than the wind that renewed his pain. The injury that had killed him – _almost_, he corrected himself – had caused him more trouble in the past years than he cared to admit. These days, he was more content to let Jae Hoon take the reins and carry on the good fight.

_I'm getting soft,_ he thought ruefully, turning up the dial a notch or two. A part of him still wanted to go out into the field... but in the end, his family came first. And the last thing he wanted was for them to lose him again.

He made his way back to the sofa, turning the television on. After all, Kain R. Heinlein was making a special announcement, and that was reason enough to be wary. "Jae?" he called to his son, calling him down. "It's starting."

Jae Hoon was just in time. He watched as the elegant man on the TV screen walked up to the podium, where the announcer had just handed the microphone over to the star of the day's show. The cameras focused in on Kain's face, sending a wave of disgust through both father and son: things never changed. Every time an evildoer was evicted from his throne, another would step up to take his place.

Kim turned the volume up, now listening intently to every word that left Kain's lips.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Second Southtown... Good evening."_

* * *

_"It has been about a decade since our town was destroyed, and we have come a long way since. She has been a source of both sorrow and joy to me – sorrow from seeing Southtown in ashes, and joy in building Second Southtown into a city that surpassed her former glory. And I would like to thank all of you – you who have contributed to the resurrection of Second Southtown in a way which even I could not match. It is in honour of such people that I wish to announce my latest project._

_"But first, allow me to digress."_

Terry gave cautious glances at his television set, continuing his conversation over the phone: "As I was saying..."

"Yeah, I got the heads-up from one of my men." The note of concern in his brother's voice was clearly audible. "So, what do you think?"

"Not good." Terry was mentally kicking himself for not having taken any action earlier. "If the weathermen are correct – not that I take any stock in them, of course – we're due for a blizzard. And if the weather goes on like this..."

He looked through the closed window, watching as the fall of snow slowly increased in intensity. "They might close the airports."

Behind him, the voice continued in its deceptively nostalgic tones. _"When I returned to Second Southtown after my time overseas..."_

* * *

_"...it was definitely an eye-opener. I never thought that the city I loved could have been changed – no, disfigured – to such an extent. There was no way that the wreck I stood in could have been my beloved hometown. And so, I endeavoured to rebuild the town, to bring it back from the dead. But even as I laboured, I noticed the resilience and tenacity that all of you displayed: how the people of Southtown, in spite of the terrible destruction that had been wrought, were able to proceed with your lives as though nothing had happened. And I was amazed."_

"Who's he tryin' ta kid?" Duck King exclaimed in disbelief, handing over a mug of beer to the solitary customer in front of him. "An' he needs a better scriptwriter, too."

The man proved more receptive to Kain's words, however. "Give the man a break, Duck... I mean, he _has_ done so much for this town. The guy can be excused for being a bit melodramatic."

The fancy-haired bartender looked at him as though he was mad. "Yeah, yeah. And if ya believe all dat rigmarole, ya'd think he'd grow a halo. Hey, Sally! How's da webcam goin'?"

"It's running fine." the waitress replied from her post at one of the empty tables, before returning to the screen of the laptop that had been hastily set up not too long before. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, sending out a message:

Receiving?

Image grainy, audio functional.

Should've installed a better TV, boss.

Elizabeth, peering over her twin's shoulder, suppressed a laugh. "Does she know what's going on?"

"She should." Sally typed out a terse query. Opinion?

The message came back almost as quickly: Have notified husband and in-laws. Advise caution.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dong Hwan butted in, taking refuge from the cold. "Man, I don't blame Rock for not coming here... Hey, what's the poof saying now?"

The staff and patron of the Illusion looked up at the television set.

_"It was not too great a surprise when I discovered that Southtown's greatest strength was also a glaring weakness. And it was then that I asked you this: "What are you willing to fight for?" It was certainly not independence, or my push for secession might actually have worked. And you are not driven by ideology or foolish sentiment, which possesses people to commit acts of madness._

_"But the men and women of Southtown have shown their character, in that what they fight for is more ordinary – and yet more noble – than that which I have mentioned above. You will fight to preserve what you know best: the continuity of daily life."_

* * *

"I do not blame you. It is no wrong to seek an ordinary life – where one can dwell without being constantly interrupted by threats to life and limb and property. And it has been my goal, in these past years, to make sure that this goal can be attained. If I have failed in that aspect, I ask your forgiveness." Kain looked over the hounds of the media with a concealed disdain, and in spite of the flattering tone of his words, he could not resist making a jab at them.

"But lately, I too have desired to lead a normal life. To bear the responsibilities of a normal man, to live freely without fear of salacious reports and whispered rumours... I seek such a life too, as much as the rest of you do." Expressions of discomfort appeared on the faces of some of the more disreputable hacks, but the others hung onto his words, not suspecting anything.

He decided that the time had come to drop the bombshell. "And that is why I have decided that as soon as this latest project is complete... I shall retire from Second Southtown."

As predicted, the hall suddenly came to life. He watched as the journalists and reporters whipped themselves into a frenzy, fighting with one another in their rush to convey the news back to the agency, and despised them even more than he had before. _Dogs.__ That's all they are._

In the midst of their consternation, none of them saw Goto slip out of the back of the hall, having received his cue.

* * *

As predicted, the policemen were in a state of shock – although he was unsure if they were pleased by the sudden revelation. Clearly, however, they were now more focused on the content of Kain's message than his henchmen.

Goto raised his hand silently, giving them the signal to take up their positions. All that was needed was the right opportunity...

The sudden beep of a walkie-talkie broke up their animated discussion. One of the policemen raised it, shouting, "What is it?"

There was a rasp of static, and behind it, the sounds of gunfire and the shrieks of the dying. A man's voice cried out, "All units, we need backup! It's Freeman..."

And suddenly, the voice was cut off.

"Quickly," the sergeant on duty yelled. "We need to get to..."

"I'm sorry, officer, but we can't allow you to do that." And Goto struck with blinding speed at the man's neck, snapping it. He was dead before the radio set touched the floor, his service revolver still in his holster. The dog at his side leapt up, ready to defend its master, but Goto dispatched it with a blow to its torso that shattered its ribs. It dropped down limply, its heart punctured by fragments of bone.

Wordlessly, Kain's men began their slaughter. Caught unawares, the policemen had no time to react: they were swiftly killed by the bare hands of the men whose weapons had been confiscated less than an hour before. They died soundlessly, unable to even give a dying cry, let alone fight back against such a sudden assault.

The last man fell to the ground, his spine broken in three places. And behind the closed doors of the main hall, where the press sat in ignorance, Kain's speech continued.

_"I do not do this lightly; even though it pains me to leave this place, I have decided on it. You can be assured that there will be others, in time, to fill my place, and that they will do a much better job than I can possibly do."_

* * *

_"Still, I am loath to leave the town of my birth without making one final contribution. As you all may bear witness, I have longed to see Southtown free – a town where the people can truly claim that they rule themselves, where they are able to act as they will without restrictions or controls from the outside world. And though I have not been able to secure her freedom politically, I shall endeavour, with this final work of mine, to pave the way for others to succeed where I have failed."_

"Calling Unit Four, over! Calling Unit Four, over! Do you copy? Damn..." Kevin bellowed into the radio, only to receive no response. He looked to his superior, who had already slipped into her trademark green jacket, a look of fury on her face. "There's no response from the Expo either, Inspector... and no prizes for guessing who's behind it."

"No prizes," Blue Mary agreed grimly. "Muster all our remaining units in the station, and prepare to move out. We're in trouble."

* * *

The doorbell rang, startling the two women who, until now, had been watching the report with rapt attention.

"My goodness, it's odd to have anyone out in such terrible weather," Mrs. Yardsley said. "I'll go see who it is."

Hotaru rose up and stopped her, smiling. "I'll get it, ma'am. Don't trouble yourself." Itokatsu pawed at her ankle, following her into the hallway.

The truth of the matter was that she couldn't stand seeing Kain's face. The thought that such a sophisticated man could have been responsible for all the deeds that Rock had mentioned... The thought was sickening, but true: an evil heart could always lurk behind a handsome front. And that beatific smile that hung on his face only served to nauseate her even more.

The same could have been said of the one who had provided her with such information, she knew. Now that Mrs. Yardsley had given her the news, there was no longer any reason to trust Rock Howard: for all she knew, he was planning to use her in his own private vendetta against his uncle. Maybe he was using her search, in some complicated way, to dig up more dirt against the man or eat away at his foundations.

In spite of all that, she wanted to trust him.

It was an irrational feeling that came over her, one without firm grounding in evidence or truth. But she'd drifted from city to city aimlessly, chasing after shadows that never wanted to be found... and fate's currents had brought her to Second Southtown time and again. And it was Rock who had given her the first signs of hope, and a reason to stop wandering. He'd given her an anchor, and she prayed that it would not prove untrustworthy.

She braced herself against the wind and opened the door.

To her shock, she found the very person she had been thinking of, and the last person she had wanted to meet. His appearance was horrific: his lips had turned bloodless, and the icy wind had left snowy drifts in his hair, giving him a wild look. The biker jacket he wore offered him only scant protection against the growing chill.

_He must be freezing,_ Hotaru thought, and instantly blurted out, "What are you doing out here?" She seized his arm, trying to drag him into the warmer hallway, but he shook himself free with a violent wrench.

Strangely enough, his teeth did not chatter from the cold. "Don't bother," he said stoically, even if he had to whisper it through chapped, cracked lips. "I came to deliver something." With stiffened fingers, he drew out her envelope from his jacket. "Terry and Mary gave me this package last week. It concerns your brother..."

"Don't be stupid, Rock. Come in," she pleaded, refusing to take it from his hand. There were too many questions left unanswered, she knew, but there was no time for them here, not in his condition.

"No," he declined, unheeding. "I..."

And as though she was in a dream, she heard the final words of Kain R. Heinlein ringing ominously in her ears:

_"At the end of this project, you shall see Southtown as she was truly meant to be. She will be greatly changed, remade in the spirit of her original founders and leaders: a city where the mighty rule._

_"So, citizens of Second Southtown, I bid you..."_

* * *

Kain reached into his pocket, finding the familiar cylindrical shape of the detonator in his hand. He found its presence strangely comforting, as though it reminded him that his final duties to the town were about to be discharged.

"...goodnight."

He pressed the button.

And the Expo was consumed by a brilliant incandescence, and the screams of men and women drowned out by the sounds of thunder.

* * *

Hotaru heard the dull booming sounds, vaguely reminiscent of fireworks, but the sinking feeling in her heart and the shaking ground told her otherwise. And for her, time slowed to a crawl:

She saw Rock pulling away from her in panic, letting the envelope drift to the ground and looking out into the street from where the sounds had come. And she watched his pupils widen as the giant wave of light bore down on them, swallowing buildings whole as it wiped out everything in its path.

She reached out for him, but he evaded her grasp. In a single, furious action, he gripped her by the shoulders and thrust her away. She felt the ground depart from her feet, felt herself falling into the house slowly, felt the cold floor as she landed painfully on her back...

She caught one last glimpse of his eyes as he slammed the door shut in her face: pained eyes, guilt-tinged and despairing.

And the next thing she knew, the blast was upon them.

* * *

Notes:

Yes, Kain does need a better scriptwriter.

Personally, I share Dong Hwan's sentiment: I have a tendency to get carried away when going into Rock's gloom-and-doom passages, and as a result, the material has a tendency to repeat itself. After all, there are only so many ways you can say, "Life sucks."

SakurAsAsamiyA: Big words do not a good story make, and I hope I have not confused anyone too greatly. Thanks for the input. Pairing-wise, you can probably guess how it'll go – I hope my intentions were clear.

Everyone else: It's not over yet, so stick around and enjoy the show.

C&C, as always, is greatly appreciated.


	12. 11: Bearing a Double Cross

Blood

Chapter 11: Bearing a Double Cross

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

Thomas and Harold stared at the television screen, open-mouthed, as their leader initiated the final stage of his scheme all too soon. "Wha–?" A split second later, the explosion ripped through the power plant, reducing everything in the vicinity to ashes – including the two hapless henchmen.

The same terrible scene was repeated at countless sites across the island, the blasts claiming the lives of both the innocent and the guilty. The foreknowledge that the members of Kain's organisation possessed proved to be ultimately useless; their last thoughts cursed their leader's duplicity as they were swallowed up by a disaster of their own making.

There was a brief flash of almost unbearable light, and Second Southtown was plunged into complete darkness.

* * *

Rock saw the flash of light from behind him as he pulled the door shut, and turned to face it. In an instant, instinct overruled conscious thought, and the desire for survival proved stronger than despair: his fingers curled almost involuntarily, blue lines flowing across his skin as he slammed his hands onto the ground. The power he wielded leapt from him at the instant of contact, loosened from their bounds by the technique he had invoked. Azure waves sprang up from his splayed palms, rising up in luminous streams to form a pillar around his hunched frame just as the two fronts of energy connected.

There was an ear-splitting clap as the impact nearly forced Rock to the ground. His hastily-erected shield bore the brunt of the damage, but even so, the residual force of the blow was staggering. He gritted his teeth in pain as the pressure intensified, willing all his strength into maintaining the barrier's integrity, but the assault continued unabated. He could see nothing but brightness now, forcing its way closer and closer in spite of all his efforts; his defensive position was becoming even harder to maintain, and he could almost feel the searing lick of flame that would consume them all. The roar of the blast rang in his ears so loudly that he shook. Desperately, he forced even more of his power into the streams that built up around him.

Gradually, he became aware of a terrible pain in his fingers that could not have resulted from the external assault: the raw power that he channelled was taking its toll on his body, an inevitable outcome of the mixed blood that ran through his veins. The ferocity of the Raging Storm was great enough, but when coupled with the dark power of the Heinlein lineage, it was enough to stop even the titanic blast that he faced... and enough to break his body down under the strain. Rock was no longer even sure whether the bloodlines – the same ones he had so vehemently rejected – would save or destroy him. Nonetheless, he kept the shield up, even though it was costing him greatly: he knew that the possibility of death was still better odds than its certainty. But he didn't know how long he would last under such an intense siege...

Mercifully, he felt the pressure slowly began to die away, and Rock cautiously diminished the intensity of his defence in time with the last vestiges of the wave. The glare and din that had previously swamped him now subsided, allowing him to witness what he had done.

All along the road, the buildings that had once stood proudly were now scorched and scarred, their surfaces pitted heavily by the debris that had been thrown up during Rock's desperate defence. Twisted frames bordered shattered windows, but no sound came through them except for the cries of the wounded. The road itself was cracked and pitted from the explosion, and there was barely a square foot of pavement left intact.

And that was merely the scene that greeted Rock when he looked behind him. Before him, in stark contrast, the landscape was a scene of grotesque tranquillity. The epicentre of the blast caught his eye from all the way down the street: where the Second Southtown General Hospital had once stood, there was now nothing but a shallow, smouldering crater. Around it, a neat circle marked out the magnitude of the explosion clearly: the buildings closest to it had been practically vaporised, while only rubble remained of the next nearest ones. To Rock's left and right, he could see nothing but ruined shells – the house he stood in front of was the only one that remained mostly intact, a ridge of fractured asphalt marking the point where the Raging Storm had ended and safety began.

And no sound came from within.

_Hotaru_

With bated breath, he flung the door open, fearing for her life. But she was not in the hallway, where he'd last seen her; she had moved further in. Three long strides covered the distance of the hallway as he crossed over into the living room.

There, Hotaru knelt over the body of Katherine Yardsley.

From where he stood, he could see a bloodstained piece of glass on the floor lying next to Hotaru's knees. Her hands worked over the elderly woman's neck as she tried to stanch the bleeding, but to no avail – the shard from the broken window had sliced her throat open cleanly. He thought he saw the dead woman's eyes fix him with an accusing, glassy stare, and all he could do was look back helplessly.

All this while, Hotaru hadn't made a sound. Rock could only hear the sounds of her bloody hands moving, searching vainly for a pulse... and then they moved one last time as she reached for Mrs. Yardsley's head, gently closing the woman's eyes.

And she turned to him and asked, her eyes shining with grief, "You knew this would happen, didn't you?"

That was it. Just one question, framed in tears and blood, and set in the sorrowful face of a girl who no longer trusted him. And he had no answer.

_But you do, Rock Howard. You knew all along, and you never did anything about it._

The agony that his hands had endured returned with a vengeance, but it extended all over his body now, a stabbing, excruciating pain that seemed strangely familiar to him... and suddenly, he remembered. It was the same pain that had overwhelmed him that night when he'd launched his mad assault on Kain's mansion.

"Not here," he murmured feverishly. "Not here, not now..."

And he tore out of the building in insane haste, not noticing the brown slip that fell from his jacket, landing next to its twin. They were the only sign that he had ever been there.

Hotaru watched him leave passively. She walked slowly to the hallway, dazed by shock and grief, and opened the envelopes with crimson fingers.

* * *

The snow was already settling over the remains of the Southtown Expo, piling layer upon layer of white on the ravaged land. But an incongruous streak of purple stood out in the middle of it.

Kain weakened the aura that surrounded him, reducing it to a faint purple sheen that surrounded his body, and looked upon what he had wrought. And he was pleased.

_Thus ends the legacy of Geese Howard. I have undone what he has made, and all his works are nothing but dust. Are you watching from heaven, Marie? And do you see all this from Hell, Geese?_

_Take a look at Second Southtown now, and see what it has become._

There was a faint coughing sound from underneath the snow, to which Kain cocked an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn't expected anyone to survive the blast, and certainly not at ground zero. But if anyone had lived through it, _he_ certainly would have...

True to expectations, Goto dragged himself out from under his cover of snow to face his boss, looking slightly dishevelled but completely unscathed. The assassin, to Kain's surprise, displayed a look of carefully-controlled neutrality, but Kain was not fooled: the expression on Goto's face was clearly artificial, and Kain knew better than to assume that the man was anything but raging underneath that calm veneer.

"I thought you said that good help was hard to come by," he accused. "What's the big idea, trying to kill off everyone in your employ?"

Kain smiled cruelly. "Come on, Mr. Futaba. This is what you were looking for, isn't it – a world where only the strong survive? You have it." He swept his arm in a wide arc. "It's quite simple, really. I have merely forced the people of Second Southtown to work out their own survival. The strong will live, while the weak will fall by the wayside. If my men died, it was purely their own fault."

It was harsh logic, Goto knew, but that was how things worked in life. "I see, I see." He brushed off the snow from his clothes. "I suppose I should be thanking you for this," he grumbled, seemingly unaffected by his close brush with death, "but somehow, I can't get over the fact that you just tried to kill me."

Kain readied himself for an attack, catching the menacing undertones in his subordinate's words. "So you're planning to return the favour, Goto?" His aura flickered slightly, ready to flare up at a moment's notice.

To his surprise, Goto waved off the idea. "I wish I could, but I have a prior engagement – and I presume you have one too. Sorry."

Kain knew what he meant – both of them still had their own family affairs to sort out. He could already feel the resonance of blood drawing him towards the one other who shared it... and he knew that there was one last article of unfinished business left to clear. "Well... that's a pity. I guess this is farewell."

It sounded almost like the parting of old friends, Goto realised, but that didn't hide the fact that they were almost at each other's throats. "And I suppose I won't see you again," he replied fatalistically.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. It all depends on who the strong are."

"Well said, Kain, well said. Goodbye, then."

They turned away from each other, and neither one looked back.

* * *

Duck King peeked out from behind the counter, surveying the damage with a mournful eye. It was bad enough that the bar had been trashed, but not a single bottle of liquor remained intact. _Least we're alive,_ he thought. "King is _so_ gonna kill me fo' this. Everybody okay?"

"We're fine." Elizabeth lowered her tray, picking off the fragments of glass that were embedded in its underside. "I can't say the same for our customer, though. No apparent injuries, but he won't like what he sees when he wakes up." The aforementioned man, having passed out in a dead faint, was presently on the receiving end of Sally's ministrations.

Duck King nodded. "Poin' taken. Where's Dong Hwan?"

There was a loud, exaggerated cough, and the upended table nearest to the entrance was rolled aside to reveal the irritated Korean youth, looking none the worse for wear. "I'm okay," he grumbled, "but I think I feel a draft in here."

The four of them watched in silence as snowflakes continued to spray through the shattered main window, piling up in neat drifts over the furniture.

"Fine, fine, so I'm understating things a little," Dong Hwan admitted. "What now?"

"Well, we'll need to get out of the cold before it gets any darker, and that means moving into an adjoining building," Sally said, "so I'd appreciate it if the men could at least help carry Sleeping Beauty." She got up and began rummaging around in the drawers for a torch. "Come on, stop dawdling."

* * *

A flaming chunk of burning debris screamed through the air, directed at the very spot where Blue Mary stood. She eyed it coolly, as though it was nothing more than a mere annoyance...

"Power... GEYSER!"

The tremendous spike of energy that burst out of the ground knocked it away forcefully, sending it spinning back into the inferno that had been the training grounds of the SSP.

"I see you haven't dropped the old habits, Terry," she noted dryly.

Terry only shook his head. "How bad is it?"

"Not too bad, according to Kevin – at least, compared to our worst-case scenario." The couple broke into a fast jog towards the shore, running against the wind. In between breaths, Mary filled her husband in on the situation.

"We're pretty sure that the original explosion was in the main building of the training grounds, with a small radius – only about one block's length. Most of our rookies got out in time, but it looks like my superiors are toast." Her words were chilling, and not on account of the weather. "The blast wave accounts for the rest of the damage, which includes the hangar where all our helicopters are. Fortunately, our underground armoury remained intact, and a good thing too: most of us were in it when the bomb went off. I don't know about the island, though, but I'd bet the bombings follow the same pattern."

They reached the banks of the Southtown Straits, where the remnants of the Second Southtown Police force waited. A man broke off from the group to receive them, with a small child clinging to his side. "Inspector, Terry."

"Any word from the mainland, Kev?" Mary's voice was all business.

"Causeway's down, communications too. I can't get word through to our guys on the mainland, but I don't think they'll be in any condition to hear us anyway." Kevin smashed a hefty fist into the palm of the other hand. "Damn! Kain..."

"Not in front of Marky, Kev." The boy had disengaged himself from Kevin's leg, and was now trying to get Terry's attention. "Right now, we need to figure out how to get back onto the mainland."

"Easier said than done, Blue. We can't get in by air – and even if we could, the weather conditions wouldn't allow it."

"Ahoy, coppers!"

The policemen whirled around in unison, only to see the submarine that drifted towards them. They trained their weapons on it, unwilling to risk another unwelcome surprise.

A small boat was launched from the submarine, hitting the water with a loud splash, and Terry could faintly make out the two people that got into it as it approached the shore. One of them he didn't recognise, although the striped shirt and red neckerchief the man wore marked him out clearly as a member of the Lilien Knights – as if the submarine hadn't been hint enough. Which meant that the fur-wrapped woman, therefore, had to be...

_Oh, crap._

"Terry!" Jenet squealed, flinging her arms around his neck. "You won't believe how much I've missed you... say, who's this?"

She had just noticed Mary.

Terry faced two pairs of narrowed eyes, answering nervously, "Eh... right. Jenet, this is Mary Ryan, my wife. Mary, this is Bonne Jenet, who is obviously delusional and considers herself to be my Number One fangirl. Now will you _please_ get off me?"

"You're no fun," Jenet pouted. She slid off, waving at an enraged Kevin, who was struck speechless by her audacity. "Didn't expect to see you here. So, who's your boss?"

The sergeant finally found his tongue. "What is it you want, Jenet? And what are you doing here in the first place?"

"Fine, I'll get to the point." The excited smile left her face almost instantly. "I saw the explosions. You people need to get onto the island, and I have a submarine and a few boats. You do the math."

The assembled policemen looked at each other in consternation. Every single one of them was itching to get to the mainland, whether from concern for their families or for a chance to get revenge. Yet few of them could fathom the offer that had just been made, and even fewer would have even considered making deals with lawbreakers – a task that most of them left to lawyers – if not for their dire situation.

"Of course, there are two things you'll have to do. Firstly, I'll need some assurance that you won't try to arrest me or anything." A shrewd glint appeared in the pirate's eyes: underneath the façade of ditziness, there lay the mind of a good businesswoman.

"You –"

"I'll deal with this, Kevin." Blue Mary cut in, and nodded knowingly. "As you can see..." She pointed behind her, where the training grounds still burned. "We're not in any condition to arrest people right now. So we won't lay a hand on you this time, but I can't make any guarantees if you decide to break the law in our city."

"Of course not. That's not all, however," Jenet continued. "We charge for our services: for transporting the lot of you, I'd say that boat rental would fall in the range of, say..." She began to tally off the costs on her fingers. "Two grand?"

Everyone else stared at her, open-mouthed. The only reply came from Kevin, who was livid. "Southtown burns, and you still talk of making deals? Why..."

Mary's upraised hand stopped him before he could continue his rant. "There's always a catch, isn't there?" she asked.

"I'm not in this business for my health, you know: take it or leave it. So, do we have an agreement?"

There was no hesitation on Mary's part, in spite of the reservations that Kevin and a few others held. "Yes."

"That's good to hear. Mr. Anderson!"

"Yes?" The man who had accompanied Jenet finally spoke up.

"Get word back to the crew, and tell them to launch as many boats as possible for our new clients. We'll drop the police off at Blue Wave Harbour." She winked at them before flouncing back to her boat. "Don't worry, I'll send you the bill some other time."

* * *

Hotaru set the envelopes down, suddenly filled with dread.

Everything was clear now: Mrs. Yardsley's accusations, Rock's reticence, the reason for his refusal to stay... It was obvious what he'd intended all this while. He had planned to give her the information she sought, and then turn himself in to the police... or worse. But by design or by accident, his plan had been foiled.

So this was the true face of Rock Howard. All that guilt was well-founded; he had been heavily involved in his uncle's dirty work in the past. Katherine Yardsley would never know how fully her suspicions were confirmed by the damning evidence in Rock's confession – but did Rock have anything to do with the blasts that had caused her death?

He hadn't been able to withstand her gaze, and when she'd asked him her fateful question, he'd fled. All this pointed to his complicity in the treacherous attack that had struck the city... but there had been no mistaking the despair in his eyes, and there was no hint in his confession that he'd had any inkling of Kain's plan aside from the man's intent.

So why had he run?

She looked once more at the other envelope, the one which contained the truth about her family. It was a triple blow to her: Rock's past, her own family's conflicts, and now the attack on Second Southtown... but this was not the time for blame. She had to stop him before he did anything foolish.

Itokatsu pawed at her feet, and she knew what she had to do.

Hotaru picked up the envelopes, holding them in front of the ferret's nose. She'd been trying that trick ever since her childhood: Itokatsu's keen sense of smell was almost matchless. But she had her doubts over her pet's ability to track a person down by scent alone, especially in the smoke-filled air.

She set the ferret down onto the ground, praying that Itokatsu's instincts still held true. "Please find him for me," she whispered, and released her pet.

Itokatsu shot out of her arms like a bullet, scurrying down the road in a brown blur. Hotaru found herself running at her fastest in order to catch up with him, her feet sinking into the snow where the ferret's scooted lightly over it. But she ploughed on, the doubt in her heart only contributing to her resolution.

_Rock, what have you done?_

* * *

Jae Hoon held up the flaming brand, peering into the pitch darkness around the edge of the building, but his mind wasn't entirely on the search for survivors.

He would have been hard pressed to describe his mood, but futility certainly made up a large part of it: it was too easy to blame Rock and his indecision for having caused all this trouble. He was tempted to do that – but Rock was somewhere else, and it wouldn't be fair to him. Nevertheless, they definitely needed to have a few words after the mess was sorted out... if Rock was still alive.

_Focus, Jae._ He put those thoughts away and scanned the alley which he had entered. But he discovered nothing new: scorch marks on the walls, shards of glass littering the ground, a snow-covered heap of clothes...

His suspicions aroused, Jae Hoon cautiously approached the large pile that lay in the far corner of the cul-de-sac, raising his torch high. As he drew closer, he detected a faint movement from the pile – _it has to be a survivor,_ he thought. Now he was almost close enough to touch it. Warily, he called out, "Are you okay?"

There was a sudden spray of old fabric and snow, and with a screech, a stray cat sprung out from beneath the pile before scurrying away. Jae Hoon fell back, momentarily stunned, but he regained his composure quickly enough.

_So, it was just another false alarm..._

He didn't see the blow that pierced him in the back. The torch fell to the snow-covered ground, where it was instantly snuffed out.

* * *

_"Jae!"_

Kim Kaphwan saw the threat and cried out to warn his son – all too late to prevent it. He saw the light disappear, and it was as though a dagger had been plunged into his heart; he dashed into the darkness, heedless of the danger that lay before him, and confronted his son's assailant.

Warm blood dripped from the pale man's arm, forming a small puddle on the snow. Another larger pool had formed under Jae Hoon's prone body. And in the night, the killer's teeth gleamed in a death's head grin, and he prepared to deal the finishing blow...

"FREEMAN!" Kim roared, lashing out at the man's head. Freeman leapt back, out of range of the attack – but more importantly to Kim, away from his son. "Jun!"

He heard a faint reply in the distance behind him. "Mr. Kaphwan?"

"It's Freeman!" he yelled, striking with a flurry of rapid kicks and forcing Freeman even further away from Jae Hoon. "I'll hold him off. Get Jae back into the house! NOW!" He dared not take his eyes off his opponent, not even to check on his son; he did not even look back, not even after pressing the advantage with another attack.

He heard the muted slap of footsteps in the snow and the startled gasp of horror: it had to be Jun, he knew. "Take him and go!"

The snow flew up around them in a flurry, and Freeman chose that time to launch an attack of his own, clawed fingers striking not at Kim, but at the two younger ones behind him. Kim smashed his foot into Freeman's outstretched wrist, deflecting the blow. Discouraged, the cadaverous killer retreated by a single step, enough for Kim to glance fleetingly at the two departing figures – and then a blood-red streak of energy passed lightly by his side, drawing first blood.

Now they were alone. For Kim, it was as though he was reliving the nightmare: he remembered all too vividly the time when he had, to all intents and purposes, perished at the hands of this same man. And now, history was repeating itself...

...but this time, he vowed to make things different. This time, Freeman would pay for every single vile deed that he had committed – and this time, Kim knew, he had a chance to make things right. And he wasn't going to waste it.

"Come on," he taunted, and entered battle once again.

* * *

Rock continued running blindly, forcing his way through the biting winds.

He found his legs moving by their own volition, his mind unwilling to take charge of them. It didn't matter to him: he gladly surrendered any conscious thought to the control of the irresistible force that drove him onwards, hoping only to stop the madness from taking total control of his mind. It was strange, but he didn't feel the cold that bit at his extremities, or the sadness that he'd felt when he'd looked into Hotaru's eyes. All that had vanished when he'd felt the familiar, mind-numbing pain... the one that had been unlocked by the Raging Storm.

He recognised the sensation for what it was – the clash of bloods had reasserted itself in him once more. Where they had previously worked to unleash a devastating force, they now ate away at his fraying sanity, tearing away what remained of his emotions and leaving nothing but a soulless killer. And now, they were the ones that controlled his movements as he ran mindlessly towards an unknown location.

The instrument was ready. Now all it needed was a target.

His feet punched through the snow easily, wisps of energy trailing from them as he cut a narrow path down the deserted streets. He ran on unceasingly, not even noticing his surroundings, following the invisible path which he sensed and stopping for nothing...

And suddenly, he came to a halt.

This was where it all began: the place of evil which he had once rejected, and the same one which he now found himself returning to. He had never wanted to return – so why was he here?

Rock stepped into the lobby of Heinlein Tower, feeling another wave of intense pain wash over his body. He struggled to keep it under control, barely succeeding; he knew, somewhere in his mind, that it was his resistance that brought the agony, but he refused to let it go.

"Welcome back, Rock."

Rock whirled around savagely on hearing that detestable voice, looking directly into his uncle's eyes for the first time ever since leaving the underworld.

"So, it looks like you've come back after all." Kain smirked, setting his briefcase down behind the empty front counter. "I'd explain, but you're probably in no condition to hear me out."

"You..." was all Rock managed as he struggled to retain control of his mental faculties, a sudden burst of agony undermining his self-control. He clenched his fists, trying to fight off the pain, but only succeeding in igniting a violet blaze over his entire body.

"You feel the blood calling, don't you? It's a pity you'll never learn to control it." In contrast to Rock's tortured struggle, Kain let his own power flow easily over his own body, the purple plumes illuminating the hall with an eerie glow. "I guess I'll just have to put you down like the dog you are." He swung his arm forwards lazily, hurling a burning lance at his nephew without hesitation.

_Just let go._

The last vestiges of Rock's sanity withered away, and his fury overwhelmed him. He leapt over the projectile in a flash, dashing at Kain with blinding speed; Kain avoided Rock's charge at the last moment, striking out at his nephew's exposed back with a closed fist, but Rock parried it with the back of his hand and slid away. The two of them backed away, each watching the other warily through blood-red eyes.

And without warning, they attacked.

* * *

The police, having landed without mishap, were already spreading out among the ruined buildings. They found survivors by the dozen: the harbour area hadn't been touched directly by the explosion, even though the secondary blast wave had damaged a fair number of buildings. At the moment, though, their primary objective was to secure a suitable area for the organising of relief efforts – a task which the inexperienced, undermanned trainees were ill-equipped to handle. They were quickly surrounded by the desperate citizens, who were even more confused and frightened than the police themselves; the darkness and poor weather only contributed to the terror that struck the people of Second Southtown.

The situation was on the precipice, ready to devolve at any instant into a scene of utter chaos, and no leader was there to be found. Their erstwhile chief, Kain, had betrayed them in the most brutal way possible, and now the pack was ready to turn on its own.

Bonne Jenet watched all this, sickened by the destruction that had taken place. To her, there was no doubt that Kain had finally gone over the edge, and the nutcase had taken most of Second Southtown along with him. "Are they all off yet?" she asked, her enthusiasm dampened by the way things had unfolded.

"Aye, ma'am."

"Good. Let's get moving, then. We'll stick to our original plan." She brushed aside the qualms that she had over renewing the contract in the wake of such tragedy – a deal was a deal, whether she liked it or not, and she and her crew had to earn their living by hook or by crook.

However, their client had just crossed an invisible line.

* * *

"You okay, Terry?"

He was looking out at the city from their landing site at Blue Wave Harbour. From his vantage point, all he could see was the glow of distant fires, obscured from his view by smoke and snow. To Mary, he seemed more like a statue than an actual person – the way he simply stood there, motionless and unheeding, worried her.

"Terry?" She walked up to his side, waiting for a response. But all she got was a half-hearted shrug. "What's on your mind?"

"What do you think? I'm worried for everyone, Mary: worried for Kim and his family, for Duck King and everyone at the Illusion, worried for Hotaru... and Rock," he snapped, an uncharacteristic response for him. "And I'm also worried for everyone else in this damn city!"

Mary knew him too well to take his foul temper at face value. "Trust me, Terry, we all are. But we can't do anything except to start working right away..."

"That's the trouble. We played right into Kain's hands," Terry rued. "He knew we couldn't do anything as long as we didn't have anything to pin on him. So this is what we ended up with... and I can't help but think that we might have prevented this by forcing Rock to cough up whatever he knew." There was a touch of cruelty in his voice, a harsh, dissonant tone that shocked Mary into speech.

"You can't force sacrifices from people. If I recall correctly, it was you who told me that the last time we brought this subject up." Their roles had been reversed since then, she knew, and it was clear that Terry had doubts over Rock's loyalties. Her voice began to take on a shrill tone as she continued, beginning to lose herself to her anger, "And believe me; I'm kicking myself even more for it! In case you haven't realised, we've lost more than half the police force, and these were people I worked with every day. Now they're gone – and as much as I'd like to sit down and have a good cry over it, it'll have to wait until we get the bloody job done!"

She paused, allowing her misplaced fury to subside. "All of us in the force knew something was going to happen, and we still didn't do anything about it. Anyone who remembers the days of lawlessness is at fault," she said, mitigating her scolding with a frank admission, "so if you're going to point fingers at yourself or Rock, you'll have to extend them to the rest of Second Southtown as well."

The stinging rebuke served as a timely wake-up call for Terry, who feared that some of Rock's more depressing habits were rubbing off on him. Mary had a point: the people of Southtown – themselves included – hadn't learned a thing from the days when Geese and Mr. Big had ruled. "And Kain's punished us well for our complacency. You're right, Blue. It's just that I'm worried about Rock. I'm sure he's alive out there... but you know how he is. If even I'm blaming him for this, who knows what he's going through now?"

"Have a little faith in him, Terry. If even you won't believe in him, who will? In the meantime, standing around and worrying won't solve anything. You deal with things one at a time, and handle what you can."

Terry smiled briefly, finally diverting his attention to the matter at hand. "As always, you're right. Let's go."

They were well on their way toward the residential areas before a sudden thought struck Mary. "What happened to those pirates, anyway?"

They turned their attention to the waterfront, but the submarine had slinked off into the night long before.

* * *

"Stupidmoronicflashlightgrumblegrumbledoesn'tworkgrumblemumbledamnlousybatteriesmuttermumble..."

There was the sound of a collision, and Bonne Jenet's grumbling was instantly replaced by an equally long string of swear words. She stuck her hands out in front of her, groping her way through the rubble-littered streets, but her progress was abysmally slow. It hadn't helped that her blind wandering had taken her smack into the middle of the disaster area – and to make things worse, everyone who had been left alive in the zone had probably fled somewhere else.

She gave up eventually, sinking against the charred outer husk of a building. _Damn, I'd give anything for a light right now,_ she thought despondently.

And on cue, a faint pinprick of brightness appeared in the distance. She looked up, elated, and began to shriek like a banshee, hoping to draw the attention of its bearer. "HEEEEY! OVER HERE!" she screamed, cautiously edging towards her target even as the point of light began to drift in her direction...

She was almost face to face with her saviour before she realised her mistake.

"You!"

"Heeey, sweetheart. What brings you here?" Dong Hwan leered lasciviously at the pirate captain.

_Of all the people in this town, I had to run into this monkey._ "None of your business, peon."

"I take it you two know each other?" A woman's voice broke into their hostile conversation, and Jenet relaxed slightly to know that they weren't alone. By the light of the faint torch they carried, she saw three people besides Dong Hwan – two women, ostensibly a pair of twins, and an older man with a hairstyle that vaguely resembled a chunk of coral from the ocean floor.

"Yeah, we go way back," the youth boasted. "So, what's up?"

"Well, if you must know..." Jenet replied reluctantly, buying time to concoct a suitable excuse, "The causeway's down, so I helped ship the police over from the mainland. They're setting up a temporary base of operations over in the East." _Well, it's the truth..._

"Hmm, never expected you to be the humane type," Dong Hwan replied, completely oblivious to the disgusted look on Jenet's face. "Our friend here could use some help and a warm fire. Mind taking us there?"

Jenet noticed, for the first time, the body that the two men were carrying, but paid no heed to it. "Look, I need to go somewhere urgently. If you think I'm going to backtrack and get lost again, you're obviously mistaken."

"What, so you're lost right now?" the Korean retorted, catching her slip. The exasperated look on her face only confirmed it, and he used it to his advantage. "Anyway, I'll make a deal with you: help us find a place where we can take cover, and I'll personally escort you to wherever it is you're going..."

"And that's supposed to make me feel safer, how?" Jenet turned up her nose in disdain.

"...or, you can keep wandering around here in the dark. I'm sure you'll figure out how to get somewhere, even if you don't have a map, a torch, or a guide..."

"Well..." The thought of being left alone in the dark was enough to make Jenet reconsider her position. She chuckled nervously, withdrawing her previous statement. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of an agreement."

* * *

The ferret came to an abrupt halt, stopping at the mouth of the road that led up to the Expo. His hackles were raised – whether from fear or hatred, Hotaru couldn't tell – and he hissed violently at some unknown threat.

She finally caught up with Itokatsu and picked him up, trying unsuccessfully to calm him down. "What's wrong, boy?" But the ferret refused to stop struggling, writhing in her arms like a bag of snakes. She could sense, faintly, the reason for his discomfort: a threat to their safety lay down that road.

Hotaru crouched down and let go of her pet once again, waiting for him to take her down another path. But Itokatsu only ran towards the edge of that same road, hissing and spitting furiously. Clearly, he would have gone down that way if he could, but an invisible barrier held him back.

_Rock must have come by this way,_ she realised. She made to follow, but Itokatsu refused to stay by her side any longer. He looked up with pleading eyes, as though he begged his mistress not to go any further, even though the faithful pet would have followed her anywhere if the need arose.

Hotaru didn't force him to come along – she knew that she was putting herself in danger, and she wouldn't drag him down that same path. In a way, she envied the overwhelming sense of self-preservation that animals had: it prevented them from making the same stupid mistakes that humans did.

She crouched down, hugging the ferret tightly. "I'm sorry, Itokatsu. I have to go. Don't wait for me, okay?"

And then she got up, making her way down the road that had been marked out for her. She looked back for one last glance at her companion, but Itokatsu, ever the obedient one, had already vanished.

Now she was alone. She ran down the path, past piles of concrete and brick that had once been buildings, all the way across the crater where the convention centre had once been. There was not a single living soul in sight –

In spite of the darkness, her eyes picked out a man-shaped silhouette framed by the falling snow. And as she continued her run, its features slowly resolved: a heavyset man, a greying queue, a familiar face that hadn't changed...

"Sorry, Hotaru, but I can't let you pass," Goto said impassively, and set himself in her path.

* * *

Notes:

This chapter came out via the high-speed route, so I apologise if it's a little rougher than normal. (I'm hoping to get the entire fic done by June.) If I missed anything, please tell me.

Peachrocks: Eh, that's the last time I point things out to you. (Just kidding.)

zed21: Fine, fine... it's R/H. But the journey's half the fun, after all...


	13. 12: Crimson Snow

Blood

Chapter 12: Crimson Snow

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting), The King of Fighters, and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

"Father..."

Hotaru faced the man she once thought dead, lost for words. She hadn't thought she'd see this day; it should have been a dream come true for her, to see her father alive and in the flesh. But she could not bring herself to feel anything more than loathing and disgust for the man who stood in the snow.

Blow after mental blow had pounded into her, leaving her reeling. She would have collapsed long before, but it was fear that drove her on: she just _knew_, irrationally, that Rock was in dire straits. Now her father stood before her... and impeded her progress.

She had so many questions to ask him: _Why kill for a living, and why did Brother follow the same path as you? Why did you trick us into thinking you were dead – why did you forsake your family? Why did you fight Brother that day? What good could come out of all this killing? And why did you choose to help destroy this city? _But none of them left her lips. Her only word was the first one that had formed in her mind: "Why?"

Her father sounded exactly like he had in the old days, lecturing his children gently – but the subject matter was far, far darker than any child would be asked to comprehend. "If you're asking me about my actions, Hotaru... I'm afraid you wouldn't understand."

"What's there to understand?" she cried, incapable of holding herself back. "You kill for a living; you work for Kain; you were involved in destroying this city. That's all I need to know."

"So you do." Goto didn't deny her accusations. "Did your brother tell you all this, or did that Howard kid spill the beans?" He caught the look of despair on her face at the mention of the latter name. "Well, it looks like that boy has more spine than I gave him credit for."

The sheer callousness of his admission horrified Hotaru – and all the more because he said it with his ever-present smile on his face, as though he was proud of it. She had never thought her father capable of such depravity... "And killing is just another job to you? What about Brother, the one you nearly murdered? What about Mother? You killed her as surely as if you'd been there, choking the life out of her! Do you value life at all, Father?"

"Your mother's death was regrettable," he replied coolly, intoning the words without any apparent feeling in his voice. "Your brother, on the other hand, chose his own path... and it was inevitable that we would have to meet along it sooner or later."

She would not accept his explanation. "And so you just decided to kill each other?"

"You're too naïve, Hotaru."

It was those words again. Mrs. Yardsley had said them that very morning; she'd turned aside Hotaru's objections with that phrase, saying that the real world was more accepting of ambiguity than her idealistic stance.

It was the "real world" that had killed Katherine Yardsley. And now, her father was repeating the very same words from the other side of the divide; it was something which she could not accept.

"Do you know what I saw?" She held up her hands, her fingertips still stained with her employer's blood. "I saw an innocent woman die in front of my very eyes, and I couldn't do anything! Nothing at all! And now my own father, the man I respect and love, tells me that her life was without value?"

Goto stared at her as though she'd just said something completely illogical. "The dead are history, Hotaru. If people deserve to live, then they'll survive no matter what. And if they die... they die. That's all there is."

Hotaru had heard enough.

Up until that day, she had thought her father a kind, decent man and a loving, if strict, father. He had turned his own son out of the house, of course, but she had always believed it to be a misunderstanding. And when he'd died, she'd shed tears for him, for the untimely loss of a good man. But Rock's delivery showed otherwise. It had all been a sham – one that had fooled herself and her mother completely, but not her brother. It was her father, ultimately, who had torn their family apart; he was the one who had caused the death of her mother and her brother's disappearance.

"Murderer." There was a tremor in her voice as tears began to stream down from her eyes, drops of impotent rage that were wasted on the cold ground. She could stand it no longer; she screamed at him, her voice cracking from the rage and disgust that she felt, "You... you... you're not my father! The father I knew died long ago; you're nothing but a mockery of his memory!"

"You're right about that," Goto freely admitted. "The father you knew never really existed, although it would have been better if you had maintained that illusion. Now, I have a question for you: why are you here?"

"Let me through, or..."

"What do you intend to do, Hotaru? Fight me?" His pose was relaxed, but Hotaru could feel the latent threat in the words that he spoke. He took a step forwards, and for one gut-wrenching moment, she thought he would actually strike her down. But he didn't. His hands remained at his sides, waiting for her to make the next move. She stood still, feeling the cold wind tear at her exposed face and freezing her tears, not daring to act...

"She needn't bother," said a voice behind her. Hotaru stepped aside, stunned, as Gato walked past her to face the father who'd disowned him. He brushed by her side, stepping in between the two with cold disdain.

"Ah, Gato. You're here at last," Goto said, seeming rather pleased at the arrival of his estranged son – and then he sprang forwards like a tiger, lashing out with a heavy blow at his son. Gato tipped his head back, the fist passing through the space where his head had been a moment before, and pushed his father's arm away forcefully, looking back at his sister as he did so.

"I'll take care of things here." He returned his attention to the fight just in time to defend against the next deadly punch; Gato barely parried the blow with his forearm and countered with a kick of his own, which Goto deflected with the shin of his upraised leg. They each took a step back, staring each other down after the initial exchange of hostilities; then Goto's hands shaped themselves into fearsome claws as he leapt at his son again. The talons stopped an inch from Gato's face as he caught them at the wrists, straining to keep them from raking him to pieces.

"Brother..." Hotaru forced, astounded by the manner of Gato's sudden appearance, and he didn't deny the title that she accorded. He turned his head, gazing away from the fight for one last time, and gave her a smile that seemed almost kind.

"Go! Someone's waiting for you at Heinlein Tower..."

Hotaru didn't wait to be asked twice. Her vision was clouded by tears and the descending snow, her steps faltering even as she turned away; yet she ran, heedless of everything else, into the darkness and away from the last remnants of her family.

* * *

Gato thrust his father's hands away, pushing him back several paces. The two fighters adopted their stances once again, circling each other warily and waiting for the other to make one crucial mistake.

It was Goto who spoke up first, his voice rising sonorously across the space that separated father and son. "How interesting. I'm degraded in her eyes, and you've redeemed yourself. So, whose benefit was this charade for? Hotaru's... or yours?"

"Hmph," Gato snorted in disgust, deigning to answer. He bounded into the air with a powerful leap, slamming his foot down – but his father countered it with a rising kick of his own, and he fell back, frustrated.

"More 'why's' from you, Gato? You were never the type to seek reasons." Goto's voice was emotionless as always, but the words that left his mouth now took on an icy tone, in contrast to his previous casual mood.

"Just one." The son folded his arms across his broad chest arrogantly, casting a disdainful eye on the man he once called Father. "Why ally with Kain?"

"Oh, so you're still sore about your loss three years ago? Petty, petty," Goto taunted. "And you should have learnt by now: it's not just raw power that determines the outcome of any fight, but the way one uses it. These are the results: only the strong will survive." He slammed his foot into the ground, catapulting himself into the air as he threw a shockwave down onto the ground. A spray of snow flew up, temporarily blinding Gato; his vision cleared just in time to roll away from the descending kick that would certainly have taken his head off. He struck low, swiping at his father with a sweep, but the older man simply leapt out of range. "And if you don't mind, I've got a question of my own for you."

Gato got up quickly, never letting his guard down. "Shoot."

"You do know that you've just sent Hotaru to her doom, don't you?" His father struck out with another crushing blow, this one aimed at his son's chest.

The façade fell away all too easily. "You were always the sentimental fool, old man. You were never capable of attaining the assassin's ideal that you talked about so much – or the scars on my back would never have returned to haunt you." Gato sneered, parrying his father's lunge with a violent swipe – and for a moment, he thought he sensed a slight increase in the killing intent behind that stroke.

"It's not like you're any closer, Gato, with all that rage limiting your effectiveness. You were never worthy of borrowing my name. After all, you're no assassin – you're just a skilled thug." The other fist shot out, aimed at Gato's midsection, but he caught it in his grip and wrenched it hard. Any resistance would have caused Goto's arm to pop out of its socket, but he merely followed the path of least resistance: in an instant, his body was spinning in midair as he lashed out with another kick. Gato released his grip as he fell back, the attack missing his face by inches, and Goto landed lightly on his feet. "It looks like I'll just have to finish the job I started."

"Big words, Father," Gato mocked, "but you won't need your name any longer. Not where I'm sending you, anyway."

They continued to fight in the middle of the blizzard, enduring even the severe cold that descended across the city for the sake of settling their feud. Both fighters refused to back down, pride and hatred forcing them to decide, once and for all, the victor.

"You never should have trained me, Father." Gato's voice called out as their fists met in a brutal collision.

"I see we both agree on something," Goto replied dryly. "You were merely a waste of my time. And I had such high hopes, too." He threw a jab directly at his son's face, obstructing his line of sight. Gato blocked the blow, but the lapse bought the older man enough time to increase the distance between them.

"If you think you're good enough to steal my name, you'll have to earn it." With that, he laughed and began to run – _away_ from the fight.

Gato was enraged. _Is he mocking me... or does he have a trap up his sleeve?_ The memory of his father's sneak attack three years before still burned in his mind, tempering his fury with caution. Still, the possibility of a trick failed to discourage him from giving chase.

"Coward!" he roared, pursuing Goto through the falling snow.

* * *

"Are you sure my friends will be okay?" Dong Hwan asked sceptically, wondering about the fate of the Illusion's staff and unlucky customer. His fingers held on tightly to the spotlight, which gave off the occasional spark as it tapped into its 'walking battery'.

"Of course they'll be fine, idiot! I run a tight ship, and you won't find any place on the island that's safer." Jenet was highly irritated, forced as she was to depend on Dong Hwan as her guide. She pulled the furs closely to her body, keeping out the cold as it increased in intensity. "Anyway, I don't see why you couldn't find shelter. You've got houses aplenty, all along the streets..."

"...and nobody wanted to let us in," Dong Hwan finished for her. "It's not like we didn't try, but everyone's got their doors locked and their cupboards against the windows – and I don't blame them."

"So much for the inherent goodness of Mankind," Jenet muttered indignantly, but there was an unfamiliar ring to her voice that reminded Dong Hwan of Rock's moping. In fact, having heard too much of it earlier that same morning, the sounds of griping actually sounded very familiar. Just to make sure, though, he decided to test the waters.

"You know, Jenny baby," he drawled ingratingly, "the current trend in philosophy at the moment seems to be 'every man for himself, and the Devil take the hindmost'. Besides, they have no way of telling whether you're really a victim or, say, a pirate captain out to loot and plunder..."

He would have continued in the same vein, but Jenet fixed him with a murderous glare that shut him up almost immediately – even through the darkness, he could feel the withering aura of her anger. It wasn't that he was intimidated, though; rather, he felt as though he'd hit a nerve, and there was definitely more to Jenet's fury than a girl's mere irritation.

He wondered if the ruined state of the city had shocked her into the loss of her bubbly character, but decided against repeating the obvious.

The silence that fell over the surroundings was starkly absolute: the only sound that they heard was the shuffle of their own feet against gravel as they travelled further into the disaster zone that Second Southtown had become. Dong Hwan swung the spotlight in a narrow arc, sweeping the surroundings in search of their destination, but it didn't help much – everywhere he looked, he only saw barrenness and destruction. It was getting hard to pick out one ruined street from the countless others that branched out from the main road. _At this rate, we'll never get to..._ "Hey, where'd you say you were headed?"

"I told you, I need to get to the west side of the island – or if you want more specifics, the industrial plants in that area. The only reason I happened to be in Second Southtown was because I was hired to fetch a client..."

"A client?" he interjected. "What moron would still want to meet up after what just happened... and more importantly, what moron would go out in this weather?"

"We're out here, aren't we?" Jenet snapped back. There was a decidedly shifty look in her eyes, Dong Hwan noted, and her muted response only confirmed his suspicions: clearly, she wasn't willing to reveal her real reasons.

He kept his thoughts to himself and continued to lead on. There was no sense in ruining a perfectly good night with a beautiful woman, even if it had to take place in the middle of Catastrophe Central.

* * *

Jae Hoon awoke slowly as the world around him spun and swirled in a dark haze. He heard muted sounds of speech from all around him, and his vision gradually came into focus, resolving the dark shapes that drifted before him into familiar faces and shapes.

"Be careful, Jae!" He recognised that anxious, worried voice as his mother's. Gingerly, he propped himself up into a seated position against the wall of his house – how had he ended up here? He remembered a faint memory of the blow that had brought him down; then his father had come across his body, and...

"Dad!"

He sat up straight, feeling a terrible tearing pain in his side as he did so. He looked down, only to see rivulets of blood dripping from his body: a fair-sized chunk of flesh had been torn from his waist. Freeman's sneak attack had, fortunately, missed his vital organs, but the bleeding hadn't stopped in spite of his mother's valiant efforts.

To her horror, he lit up a small fire in his hand and plunged it into the gaping wound in his side. He clenched his jaw against the pain as he cauterised the injury, feeling the raw edges of the laceration seal up under the heat. Through gritted teeth, he forced out, "I'll be fine. Where's Dad?"

His mother could only look helplessly at the window.

Jae Hoon struggled to his feet, his mother supporting him as he walked to the far wall. Through the snowfall, he managed to make out two moving figures in the street, locked in combat where they stood. Red sparks flew where their attacks collided, flashes of scarlet lighting up the battleground as the snow rose in a flurry around them. Then the two pulled away, and he could see that both were hunched over, their bodies streaked with the same redness that stained the snow around them.

He recognised them instantly.

"Dad's out there. I need to help him..." he began, fighting to reach the door, but his mother moved towards him and caught him by the arm. He tried to pull away from her grip, half-expecting her to forbid him from going out in his injured state.

Instead, Myun opened the door for him. "I know," she answered bravely, in spite of her tears. "Dong Hwan isn't back yet, and Jun went to get help... We heard news of a police landing at Blue Wave Harbour, but there's no telling when she'll get back."

"Mom..."

"Take care of your father. I want all of you to come back safely."

* * *

Red blotches marked the spot where Kim stood, his blood dripping slowly from the many wounds that covered his body. He felt the numbness in his feet start to creep up his legs, and realised that he had already wasted too much time in the snow. His age made him vulnerable to the chill, while his opponent – a living corpse, it seemed to Kim – didn't seem to feel the cold's effects at all.

Across from him, Freeman licked the blood from his fingers, smiling cruelly at the Korean's futile struggle. He, too, was drenched in scarlet – but the blood was not his own, and the lust for killing remained unquenched even after the evening's slaughter. There was no option to retreat; Kim knew that if he backed down, the murderer would still kill them all. He couldn't allow himself to lose...

Freeman sensed Kim's desperation, savouring the fear he perceived in the man's eyes. He lifted his hand in a mocking salute, raising it before his face, and swung his arm outwards in a backhanded sweep. From his fingers, a crimson pulse of energy materialised into the form of a blade, cutting through the air as it winged its way swiftly towards Kim. The taekwondo exponent saw the attack coming, and tried to dodge it – but the cold had slowed his reflexes too greatly. The arc of dark power sliced past Kim's chest, opening up yet another wound in spite of his vain attempts to evade. He felt his skin break, fresh blood welling up in the cut and congealing almost instantly in the cold air.

There was no question of making a counterattack – Freeman had already retracted his arm in preparation for another blow. But instead of attacking, the pale killer stood in the snow and stared at Kim with his beady eyes, dark pools of emptiness that knew nothing except death.

_He knows,_ Kim thought. _He knows I remember the past._ The pang of fear that shot through his gut exacerbated his own doubts; he found that the ground beneath his feet was suddenly shaky, as though he couldn't even control his own body. His hands trembled as he relapsed, consumed by the terror that had resulted in his loss that first time...

"Dad!"

Jae Hoon's voice rang out clearly in the night, breaking the hypnotic effect of Freeman's gaze. Kim kept his eyes fixed firmly on his enemy, not daring to look away, but the spell had been broken. The fear that had lodged in his heart had suddenly vanished. "Jae Hoon! What are you doing out here?" he exclaimed, not wanting to put his injured son at any further risk.

There was the hissing sound of steam as Jae Hoon approached, a shield of fire coating his feet as they cut through the snow with ease. Kim watched as his son stood beside him, raising an arm to support his battered frame. "Are you okay, Dad?"

"I've been better," Kim confessed. "Are you sure...?"

"Don't worry about me, Dad." Jae Hoon stood up, the pain in his side banished by the righteous anger that flowed in his veins. He turned his eyes, burning with fury, to their tormentor. "We'll see that Freeman pays for what he's done."

* * *

"We're here." Dong Hwan brushed the snow out of his eyes, taking in his surroundings with the seasoned eye of a native. He seemed unsurprised to see that the factories in the area were largely intact, if completely deserted. Jenet's mood, on the other hand, was one of deep-seated unease, even after they took shelter in the nearest empty building.

"That's good," she replied, eager to get rid of her uninvited guide. "So, I guess you don't need to hang around anymore..."

"What, you don't want me around?" Dong Hwan wailed in mock despair, a tactic which succeeded in annoying Jenet to no end. On seeing the peeved look on her face, he smirked. "I hate to disappoint you, but I can't."

"What're you talking about?"

In response, Dong Hwan simply set the spotlight down on the ground and stood up.

The light died almost instantly, the surroundings sinking into inky darkness. Almost instantly, the pirate's screech bounced off the walls, nearly deafening its sole target. "WHAT?" Her hands shot out where she'd seen Dong Hwan barely a second ago, finding purchase on his shoulders, and she began to shake the life out of her hapless victim. "The spotlight batteries were dead too?"

"Y-y-you've got it, sweetheart." Light suddenly returned to the surroundings; the spotlight had returned to Dong Hwan's hands, and his voice regained its regular consistency as Jenet released her grip. "I don't like being used as a human battery either, but let's face it – unless you want to sit around in the dark for the next couple of hours, I guess I'll have to stick around for a while."

Inwardly, Jenet was rattling off a blue streak of swear words, cursing herself for having apparently missed all the batteries on board the submarine during the quartermaster's inspection; that put paid to her boasts of "running a tight ship". But her vulgarities only materialised as a despairing reply. "Your friends are on my sub, you realise," she muttered, trying to put some semblance of a threat behind her empty words.

"Yeah, so how else am I going to find them if I don't follow you back to your ship, huh?" Dong Hwan shrugged and grinned at her. "Look like we have ourselves a Mexican standoff, ladies and gentlemen. But then again, you're a nice girl, and I don't mind being in the company of fine women... so," he continued, moving towards the nearest wall, "let's talk."

Jenet followed suit reluctantly, but kept her distance from him. "You're an ass, Kim Dong Hwan, and a heartless one to boot. Besides, you don't have anything to gain by staying here... so why bother?"

"On the contrary, milady, I do." He waved a finger admonishingly at her. "As a matter of fact, I'm rather interested in your actual reasons for being in town. Your aforementioned client, for one thing..."

He had the satisfaction of watching Jenet's eyes narrow in unconcealed hostility. "What are you insinuating?"

Dong Hwan decided to bait her a little more before confronting her directly. "This place was closed in the aftermath of the Zero Cannon. Some say that underneath these factories lay a secret NESTS base, where the rogue agent Zero made his last stand. My dad knew better – he actually _saw_ the fight. The actual place was located somewhere else... and the Zero Cannon nuked it, so there's no chance of finding any secret data, tools of mass destruction, or whatever it is that black marketers buy."

"Your point?"

He gave her a dangerous smile and began to expand on his speculation. "You will find, however, that the place belongs to Kain, and that he never welcomes intruders onto his property... unless he knows they're coming. Or did you have a prior appointment with Mr. Heinlein already?"

He could feel the heat of her anger from where he stood. Warned by his fighter's instincts, he suddenly took a step back, feeling her fingertips brush past his cheek as she lashed out at him with an open palm; there was the smack of flesh colliding with concrete, and Jenet was left clutching her bruised hand as she drew it back. Dong Hwan winced. _Bingo._

"You know, a simple 'yes' would do..." He walked over to her side, and surprisingly enough, she didn't try to hit him again. However, when he tried to look at her injury, she pulled away.

"Fine," Jenet hissed. "I was hired to smuggle Kain R. Heinlein out of Second Southtown. What can I say? He paid well... and that cash would keep us afloat for at least half a year. But he never told us anything about destroying the city on the way out."

"I thought you hated the man."

The pirate laughed bitterly. "I do. As a matter of fact, I'd like to keelhaul him personally. But believe me, fool, treasure hunting isn't all fun and games. It's wonderful when you've got a well-paying assignment and the money rolls in. But when you've spent your third straight month on board the submarine, and the food and fuel are running low, anything goes. We're talking about day-to-day survival here."

"I know. My brother told me about the smuggling op he walked in on the other time. I don't see you starving, though..." Dong Hwan eyed her appreciatively.

"I'd like to give that stage a wide berth, and that means taking whatever jobs you can get your hands on... including such work as this. And we have a rule on board our ship: once a job is accepted, we never back out. So what're you going to do about it?" She released her wrist and stared at him in defiance, daring him to make a move.

But Dong Hwan only laughed. "If you think I'm going to give you a lecture on justice and righteousness, you're wrong. I _am_ the black sheep of my family for a reason..."

Jenet's jaw dropped in amazement.

"What, surprised?" He chuckled drolly, watching the expression on her face change. "Not that I condone this whole mess, of course... but if Kain wants to get his sorry butt out of Second Southtown, I say we let him. We're better off with the pansy gone anyway."

Jenet was incredulous. In spite of the fact that it only worked against her argument, she could not resist asking back, "Your hometown lies in ruins, hundreds of people have just died, and now you're saying about the guy who did this, 'Let's let him go'? What are you, thick?"

"Probably, but what's done is done, and Second Southtown's got more immediate things to worry about than our friendly local megalomaniac." The smile never left his face. "It's not that I'm unconcerned. Jae, my parents, Rock... heck, they might be dead for all I know, but I can't do anything about it right now. The same goes for Kain: if he suddenly popped up on us right now and wanted to get out of here, I wouldn't be able to stop the two of you anyway – and even if we caught him, it wouldn't undo any of this mess. So why worry?"

The pirate captain watched him speak, her lips frozen in surprise. Inwardly, the unease that she felt about the job was only amplified by Dong Hwan's fears for his family – it was now that she realised the cruelty of rubbing her insistence on completing the job in his face. There was no sense in holding up her part of the bargain after what had befallen Second Southtown; it would be so easy to just return to her ship and sail away. She could've just walked out of the arrangement...

...but she couldn't, even if the money that she'd receive now began to seem tainted to her eyes._ A deal's a deal,_ she remembered, having agreed to Kain's offer, and her decision had been made the moment she'd shaken his hand. And the fundamental rule of her occupation was that you stuck to your word, no matter what happened: there was no business without trustworthiness.

At that point, though, it seemed to Jenet that Kain was not the most trustworthy of men.

Over the howling wind, Dong Hwan's voice continued in its nonchalant tone. "I'm not stopping you – you do what you have to do. I make bad jokes to stave off my fears; you get Kain out of town to make a living. Just make sure that you can live with the consequences, otherwise... what's the point?"

* * *

A glowing projectile sailed across the length of the floor towards Kain, but a wave of his hand – and the corresponding sheet of energy that was thrown up – deflected it back at Rock. The crazed youth slipped aside, dodging it, and burst through the barrier with a vengeance, his fist smashing down like a sledgehammer. Kain raised his forearms to block it, sending up a shower of sparks.

_Interesting._ He repelled the attack forcefully with a blast of his own power, but Rock leapt away as the beam passed by harmlessly. In an instant, his hands were transformed into a blur as they struck repeatedly at their target, forming a deadly assault on his uncle. But Kain's hands moved with consummate elegance, his speed on par with Rock's as they parried every single blow. Denied, Rock could only seethe in rage as he pulled away, his violet aura radiating out to fill the space before his uncle's eyes. He drew his hands back over his head, gathering his power, and then he swept his hands out as he hurled another gigantic bolt of energy at Kain.

To Kain, his nephew resembled one of the bombs that had gone off earlier that evening – raw, unbridled power without any control behind it. _There's no sense in attacking if you can't make it count, _he thought, dodging the wild blast with ease. The wave travelled past him, tearing a huge chunk out of the wall on impact, but Rock had already rushed in recklessly for the next assault: he charged headlong, his entire body ablaze, and tried to floor Kain with a violent tackle.

Kain never lost his cool composure. The experienced fighter simply watched Rock race towards him, the blinding speed of the charge reduced to a crawl in his analytical mind, and stepped aside at the last instant. Rock overshot his mark, sliding past his target as he stretched out his arm in a swipe, but Kain simply shifted a little, watching the flaming claw drift past, and viciously plunged a spike of energy into his nephew's back.

The impact was sufficient to send Rock skidding across the length of the hall, his feet losing their purchase on the ground as he careered into the wall behind – and then he literally _bounced_ off it as he reversed his momentum to power his next attack, unfazed by the hit that he had taken.

Kain knocked Rock away with a fierce thrust of his hand, deflecting the larger part of the attack's impetus away, but he still found himself reeling from the residual force that remained. He was suitably impressed. _So, it looks like I've got him adequately riled up..._ In a move that defied logic, he toned down the power that he manifested, reducing it to little more than a violet sheen on the surface of his skin.

Rock failed to reciprocate, his eyes dulled with madness as the duelling bloods in his veins fought for release. Precipitated by the slightest provocation and sustained by the resonance that existed between those who possessed the Heinlein blood, the frenzy would continue unabated until either the source of his aggravation was suppressed – or he burnt himself out. For now, neither option was anywhere near realisation.

It didn't matter to Kain. In his view, life was all about taking calculated risks: he would never have kept a loose cannon in his ranks for an entire three years, only to release him onto the streets of Second Southtown, if he had thought otherwise. This was no different.

_Let's see how long we'll last, Rock Howard._ A cryptic smile appeared on his face – the cards were all in his hand, and all he had to do was to make the play.

* * *

Notes:

It's hard to capture the full gamut of emotions that the characters would feel given the various situations they're in: I tried, but frankly, it's hard to put such abstract things into words. Chances are that you (the readers) will have to fill in the blanks where I've failed. Until then, enjoy the ride... while it lasts.


	14. 13: The Long Night

Blood

Chapter 13: The Long Night

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting), The King of Fighters, and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

Terry plodded on wearily, leading along another train of shell-shocked survivors through the cold, dark night. They huddled together in twos and threes, trying to glean whatever warmth they could from each other's bodies, shivering from both the shock that they had experienced and the chill which they endured as they made their way towards the station. The only thing that alleviated their misery was his presence: for Southtown's hero to appear, to help them in their dire situation, was a comforting note in the midst of desolation.

He didn't contest the view that they held. In the wake of Kain's betrayal, it was natural for confusion and panic to reign. Those who despaired would seek something – anything – to cling on to in their time of trouble. He'd seen it before at the turn of the century, when Kain himself had become the city's deliverer. The people had flocked to him, seeing him as the one who would restore Southtown, not just to functionality, but to glory once again.

He'd known better. And in their state, he would rather have them coming to him, ineffective and powerless as he was to reverse the destruction, than to another false messiah. As arrogant as he thought it sounded, he was at least sure of his own decency...

"Over here!" He heard Blue Mary's voice above the cacophony of the screaming wind, and headed in that direction, pushing his way through the storm. His body yielded to the urgings of his mind reluctantly, though it screamed at him to just fall over and rest – it would have been a fatal choice. But he gave himself a brief respite, at least; he fell back as the survivors caught sight of a light in the distance. They stumbled towards it raggedly, and he signalled to the police officer who had accompanied him to bring up the rear.

When the last man had passed into safety, he dragged his tired frame over to Mary's side, his entire body covered in a white coat of frost. "How's it going?"

Mary's smile was dangerously brittle. "Not too good, but at least things are stabilising. There was a point about an hour ago when the people were _this_ close to rioting," she said, pinching the air to make her point. "The situation is much calmer now, and we're making decent inroads into the inner parts of the city." She turned away from him and sneezed windward. "Damn, it's a little chilly out here."

Terry smiled. He admired Mary's toughness, but even she wasn't immune to exposure. "Get some rest. I'll cover for you over here..."

"Can't afford it," she mumbled stuffily, rubbing her nose. "We're stretched pretty thin as it is, and it's still a long way to go before the dawn... And besides, it's not as though you're looking that fresh yourself."

Terry opened his mouth to say something, but the sudden commotion at the other end of the camp made him fall into silence. He turned, seeing Jun – _what's she doing here?_ He thought, fearing the worst. He ran to her, with Mary and Kevin Rian close behind. "Jun! What's wrong?"

The frightened girl stumbled towards them breathlessly, falling onto her hands and knees as she came to a stop. "Jae – Mr. Kim – Freeman..." she panted, the words leaving her mouth in short, futile spurts.

Mary frowned, the only concession she made to her sudden dismay; the association between the three names only meant more trouble. "Not good," she muttered. "I'm going –"

"I'll handle this, Inspector," Kevin interjected. "I've got a score to settle with Freeman. Besides, you're needed here." There was a fury in his eyes that Mary could not have ignored: it was the right of the avenger of blood to deal with the murderer, and she would not deny him the chance, unprofessional as his desire was...

She nodded. "Don't get killed, then."

* * *

Goto fled, and Gato stalked through the snow in hot pursuit, tracing his father's tracks through the blizzard. He ploughed on, heedless of the wind that whipped around him, and continued on his hunt.

Before him, he heard his father call out, "So, Hiroshi... Give up yet?"

Gato's eyes narrowed. "Hiroshi died years ago, old man." He scanned his surroundings, but found no evidence that the man was there – his voice was the only sign. "He lies at the bottom of a waterfall, with three wounds on his back."

"He was a failure." The harsh judgement rang in Gato's ears, but failed to faze him. "It was a waste of time, teaching him..."

"Of course." Gato didn't want to waste his breath on small talk, but he knew that it gave him a better chance of drawing his father out... assuming that the older man didn't drive him to distraction first. Still, he could not avoid retorting, "And the fault lies with his teacher for not knowing better – but I'll see to it that you don't regret your decision much longer."

"True, so true." A man's faint image formed in the distance for an instant, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, and Gato approached the spot warily. But he found nothing there save rapidly-vanishing footprints in the snow. He wiped the white flakes from his eyes, his pent-up rage collecting within him as he proceeded with his tracking.

The voice sounded once more in the distance, mingling with the howls in the air. "Remember our fight, Hiroshi? The one that sent you on your way down the assassin's path?"

* * *

"So, you're a killer." The young Hiroshi had inherited his father's features, but bore a stern frown in the place of Goto's smile – and the streak of disdain already ran a mile wide in him. "That explains your frequent 'business trips', doesn't it?"

Denying it would have been useless – the incriminating evidence in his son's hands made sure of it. "I see you've been going through my things again," Goto remarked with an easy calm; he showed no sign of being intimidated by the proof. In mock disgust, he muttered, "I knew I should've locked up that briefcase..."

Hiroshi was not amused. "Don't joke around with me, Father. How long have you been in the profession? Does Mother know?"

Goto noted, with faint alarm, that his son had made no mention of morals. "It's been quite a while, if I recall correctly. Long before I married your mother, as a matter of fact..." There was a dangerous sharpness behind his nostalgic tone. "Which reminds me: you obviously wouldn't come to me directly if it was your intent to rat me out. So... what do you want?"

A crafty smile appeared on Hiroshi's face. "Teach me."

The words were enough for the assassin to give pause, and he felt a terrible sense of foreboding as he scanned his son's face. The taint of cruelty was all too evident... _That boy will never make a good assassin. A killer, perhaps; a person who takes lives for pleasure or to vent his anger... but he will never be able to keep his interest professional. _

_It changes nothing. If I do not lead him down this path, someone else will – or he may very well walk it of his own volition. The result will be the same. And knowing his nature, he will turn on me when the time comes – I cannot trust him, and certainly not after this._

_Will I have the resolve to take him down when the time comes, or should I nip the problem in the bud?_

He made his decision. "Not so fast, boy. I'll decide if you are up to scratch."

"What?" the youth exclaimed in disbelief, unable to comprehend his father's intent. "You can't be serious. I have the skill – after all, you were the one who taught me martial arts!"

"Be that as it may, I will decide if you are suitable for the craft. If you defeat me in a duel, I will train you. If not, you will pack your bags and leave this family forever. I shall not tolerate failure."

He watched as Hiroshi stalked away and slammed the door behind him, rattling the windows in the musty study room. This would be the answer.

* * *

"Of course. You forbade me from following in the trade... hypocrite. What, did you fear that I would supplant you?" Gato's resentment boiled over as he remembered what his father had done so many years ago – how he had thrown him out of the house without ceremony, banishing him for having tried to take up the killing profession.

There was irony in it: any other parent would have been proud to have their son carry on the family business. But when Goto found out about his son's discovery and the boy's intent to follow in his footsteps... there was no delight in his eyes. _I should have exposed him that day,_ Gato thought.

"You think too highly of yourself. I knew my weakness – unlike you. It has been your undoing before, and it shall be so again." The voice sounded closer than it had been a while before...

"But what good is knowing your vulnerabilities if you can't cover them?" he taunted, waiting for his father to come out of hiding: the man had to be nearby. In a moment of cruelty, he exploited the one weak point that he knew his father had – family. "You were unable to cast aside sentiment when you saw her face, weren't you? You knew she was walking into danger, and so you tried to stop her. But she didn't listen."

He shot an evil smile at his surroundings, knowing that Goto was watching. "So, master assassin... Are you still vulnerable, now that the daughter you love is – or will be, anyway – dead?"

Fists clenched almost imperceptibly in the darkness, and Goto stepped out into plain view. He faced his son's grin with a stare that was colder than the blizzard they stood in, dropping the mild smile that had served as his shield all this while.

"No." There was no denial in that answer, just a mere confirmation of the stark reality that they both faced. "There are none left from my family who would hinder me."

"Good. Then let's fight."

* * *

"Ya know, for a guy who's just blown up half his own city, Kain's sure taking a long time to get here," Dong Hwan groused, idly fiddling with a loose screw on the spotlight casing. It came off easily in his hand.

"Ya know, for a guy who's likely to get shot on sight when Kain turns up, you're pretty relaxed," Jenet echoed in boredom, just before she screamed, "And stop taking my property apart, idiot! Spotlights don't grow on trees."

Dong Hwan gingerly replaced the screw back into its socket. "You're cute when you're angry, you know?" he began, only for Jenet to turn her nose up at him as she looked away in disgust. Rebuffed, he muttered in mock sulkiness, "Fine. See if I care," and contemplated the ramifications of removing another screw from the casing. He finally decided that it wasn't worth the trouble, and he resorted to the slacker's final recourse: tossing pebbles. Unfortunately, in the dusty factory, stones were few and far between...

To Jenet's infinite horror, the loose screw ended up soaring into the dark depths of the building's interior.

"YOU MORON!" she began, throttling Dong Hwan with great prejudice, and it was only by the greatest of miracles that he managed to retain his grip on the spotlight. "I'll see that you spend the next century paying for that lost screw, you..."

There was a shrill chitter from where the projectile had landed, and a brown shape dashed out into the quivering beam of light and stared at the quarrelling pair in bemusement.

"It's just – grk! – a rat..." Dong Hwan gasped, straining to look at the creature.

Jenet, however, had a different opinion. "Nope, and believe me, I know rats. Kain's a rat. You're a rat. That," she muttered, releasing her fingers as she dropped to one knee, "is a ferret. C'mere, boy."

Surprisingly enough, the ferret responded to her beckoning, scurrying up to her as she looked quizzically at it. Dong Hwan winced as he rubbed the finger marks on his neck, hearing the pirate muse aloud, "That's odd. I never expected you people to have ferrets in Second Southtown... Someone's pet?"

_Someone's pet..._ He looked down, noting first the sleek shape of the animal that distinguished it from the more familiar species of pest, and then noticing the strange collar around its neck. "Hey... does that sound familiar to you?"

"It should, unless you happened to be fighting in your sleep for the whole of Maximum Mayhem – something which I wouldn't put past you," Jenet remarked bitingly. "The question remains, though: what's she doing here? And why isn't her pet with her?"

Dong Hwan dredged up a recollection from the morning's conversation, surprised at the coincidences that he had chanced upon in the space of only a few days. "I think I might have an idea..." he started, ready to show off all that he knew...

"Don't tell me – she's looking for her brother."

The wind left Dong Hwan's sails almost immediately. "In a nutshell, yes. So watcha gonna do?"

Jenet was already on her feet, her hand grabbing Dong Hwan's wrist as she began to move out. "I'm gonna investigate, that's what, and you're coming with me."

"And what about your paycheck?" Dong Hwan wasn't entirely reluctant either, but he felt the need to check on her motives. It was thoroughly unlike Bonne Jenet's character to suddenly walk away from a job, from what he knew of her: he would have thought that avarice held a greater place in her heart than curiosity.

He was wrong. "If that idiot can keep me waiting for such a long while, he can afford to wait for me in turn. After all, _I'm_ not the one with the whole city after my head."

* * *

Kain detested the term "dicing with death": it sounded as though he left too much to chance. He preferred to have the scenario completely under his control – he was the piper, and Rock Howard was dancing to his tune.

He slipped aside, feeling another gust of wind brush by his side as Rock dashed past. Only a light glow formed around his hand, but it was sufficient to deflect the giant wing of energy that his nephew had unleashed – the two collided and dissipated in a burst of brilliance.

Rock slid along the floor, using his momentum to his advantage as he pivoted on a lowered foot. Pushing off, he flung himself at Kain in a mad rush as he made another futile attempt to take him down, his aura extending thickly around his body. With consummate grace, Kain simply sidestepped the attack and plunged another ethereal blade into his opponent's exposed back, playing the matador to Rock's wounded bull.

The youth's endurance was remarkable. As long as the dark power controlled his mind, there was no way that pain could enter it – he had become the typical berserker, sacrificing his sanity for the inhuman strength that accompanied madness. _Typical Howard,_ Kain reflected. His own mind remained clear; his thoughts flowed as smoothly as his moves even as the battle continued to rage on – but they were elsewhere.

_You missed the mark, Geese._ Another projectile roared across the floor at him, and he sidestepped it gracefully, barely heeding the fragments of stone that flew up from its impact with the wall behind. _We both knew that only the strong would receive the mandate to rule. But in your eyes, there was only one person mighty enough to claim that right – yourself. And safely ensconced in your iron grip, this town became weak._

Rock launched another attack as he advanced forwards in a battery of blazing punches, each strike a deathblow that would have settled their fight on the spot. But none of the punches found their mark. Weaving and dodging, his body a blur amidst the hail of violet, Kain merely avoided every single one as they drifted just past his face.

_This town has become too dependent on its strongmen. The crimelord of Second Southtown is the one who holds the entire city up by his own power: take him away, and the house of cards collapses. But the man grows at the expense of the town, and not with it; and that was where you failed. You thought of expanding your empire first, and letting the rest of Southtown follow... but this town is nothing but a parasite. It leeches off a man's power, thus ensuring its own survival – and once he is too weak, it dispenses with him and seeks another host. So you died._

The attacker overextended, his last lunging punch leaving a gap in his defences, and Kain neatly jabbed a fist into Rock's ribs. _I shall succeed where you have failed, Geese. These people shall be forced to fend for themselves, and the strong shall be chosen to survive... and such is the true form of the dream._

The crazed young man was sent flying across the lobby, landing on all fours in a ground-hugging crouch – then he sprang forwards, leaving only cracked marble tiles to mark the spot where he had landed. Kain found himself hard-pressed to endure this assault: he was forced to take the entire weight of Rock's pounce on his forearms, and he staggered even as he repulsed his nephew's attack.

_It's interesting how everything just falls together, don't you think? I must purge the name of Howard from this town – yes, and even Heinlein too, if the people shall have any hope of standing on their own feet. And in so doing, I gain my revenge. _He whirled around as Rock released another wave of energy, neatly avoiding the projectile – and by some caprice of fate, his foot caught against one of the crevices in the cracked floor, and he found himself stumbling momentarily.

It was enough.

Seizing his chance, Rock leapt violently, slamming into Kain's chest with deadly force. The two of them fell to the ground: Rock pinned his uncle to the ground with his left hand, while his right fist was instantly sheathed in the roiling flames of a violent inferno. He aimed directly at Kain's head, ready to kill the man who stared composedly back at his own death...

_To appropriate all your creations, and then unmake them in one single moment..._

The violet shroud suddenly disappeared, dissipating with a barely-audible hiss. In an instant, Rock found himself wracked by immeasurable pain; the suppression that his power had provided was now gone, and he felt the full agony of his wounds for the first time since the start of the fight. The strength and madness bled from him as he regained his senses – a curse, he realised, as the barrier that separated the pain from his mind was cut away.

_The last laugh is mine._

"Time's up," Kain sneered, and slashed Rock across the eyes with a streak of purple light.

* * *

Jae Hoon's entry into the fray had turned the tide of the battle against Freeman. Instead of celebrating his bloody victory, the murderer now found himself assailed on two fronts by an enraged father and son, and neither of the two was going to let him get away.

In addition, the two-pronged attack had forced him to block Jae Hoon's flaming kicks instead of dodging them; his defence had not been able to defend adequately against burns, leaving raw red wounds where pale white skin had previously been. He derived much pleasure from the pain that coursed through his body as he revelled in its exquisiteness, letting his twisted tastes overcome the searing agony that inconvenienced him, but not even that allowed him to surmount the disadvantage that he faced. And a new problem surfaced: where he should have danced rings around the slower Kim Kaphwan, the two fighters were circling _him_. His speed had discernibly slowed, an effect of the burns that his psychology was unable to overcome.

He would not have had it any other way.

Jae Hoon leapt in, his feet ablaze as they struck at Freeman's shins. The pale killer jumped over the attack belatedly, feeling flames scorch his feet as he extended a menacing claw towards his adversary's head, but Kim was there to frustrate his attempt with a somersaulting kick. Freeman found himself knocked into the air, his body contorting unnaturally as he struggled to regain control, but the older Korean followed up with a descending smash that knocked the wind out of his lungs. His impact with the floor dealt with what little remained.

Freeman rolled away from the blow, rising into a crouch as another wave of energy left his hands. Both Kim and Jae Hoon evaded quickly in separate directions, avoiding the wild strike, and proceeded to flank their tormentor. Neither of them wasted any time or breath on taunts as they closed in, their rage-filled eyes focusing solely on the fight.

The hunter, long accustomed to picking the weak and vulnerable from the herd, was in dire straits as his prey turned on him. Father and son were more than he could handle alone; his original plan had been to divide and conquer, but Jae Hoon's return to the fight had put paid to it. Now, he decided, he would settle the matter of the other target first.

A talon stretched out towards Kim, crimson stains gathering at its fingertips. With a desperate stamp, Kim sent up a shower of white that blocked Freeman's line of sight – but it did nothing to block the attack, which sliced through it as though it wasn't there. Viciously, the desperate killer continued his frenzied assault as he cut relentlessly into the curtain without a second thought. In an instant, he passed through the settling screen of snow, his fingers slashing the space behind it into a million pieces...

...but Kim was not there.

"NOW!"

Jae Hoon sprang towards Freeman in a fury, delivering kick after burning kick in the brief opening that his father had provided. Caught off his guard, the killer found himself on the receiving end of a barrage of blows, and he could do nothing but take the hits – the assault was simply too rapid for him to break.

Another kick set his clothes ablaze, the small ember growing into a furious fire with every added blow. The flames seared his flesh as easily as it did the fabric over them, scorching him terribly, his body's agony overwhelming his mind's perverse desires to the point where pain, instead of pleasure, swamped his consciousness. Flooded as he was by consuming torment, the irony of his situation escaped him: his lovers – pain and death – had shown him their true faces, and could not meet their terrible gaze.

The last kick struck home, and his sizzling body fell to the earth, where it lay still.

* * *

Jae Hoon's heart pounded madly, its beat hammering away in his skull as he stood on the battlefield, and only one thought filled his mind.

It was over.

He crouched, looking down at the body that lay cooling in the snow, taking in Freeman's unfamiliar features clearly for the first time: the death's head grin lay exposed, unshielded by the long red locks of hair that were draped around it. It was a thin, skeletal face, one more fit for a corpse than a living being; two black, lifeless pools were set in its eye sockets – they could have been empty, for all Jae Hoon could discern from their soulless depths. No breath escaped from the bloodless lips.

So this was the face of Death's lover. Freeman, the murderer whose night slayings had terrorised the town, and whose unconfirmed death had only served to transform him into an urban legend in everyone's eyes... but not in his family's. They had endured too much to question his existence, and seen too much to ever let down their guard. Now, they had their revenge...

_No. Not revenge. Justice._

It tasted foul in his mouth nonetheless. Freeman had finally fallen, and the streets would be safer again – but even that would not compensate for all that his victims had suffered. People were dead by his hand, and nothing in the world would change that fact. They would not return...

Embittered, Jae Hoon could not hold back his feelings of frustration. In a temper, he suddenly seized the corpse by its scrawny neck and rose, hoisting his defeated enemy into the air.

"Jae!" Kim shouted, but the youth refused to listen. His hands trembled as he tightened his grip, shaking the body violently as though it was a rag doll in the jaws of a stray dog. He wanted to vent all the anger on the body before him, even though it was meaningless; he wanted to discover Freeman's reasons for doing what he had done, even though there would be no answer.

There was no stopping him from screaming, "Did you delight in causing suffering that much, sicko? Why do this? WHY?"

And to his horror, the empty eyes slowly rotated in their settings, turning down to focus on him.

He looked back in utter terror, not believing what he saw. _Impossible!_ he thought, his heart and mind crushed by the iron grip of fear, his breath catching in his chest as he fought unsuccessfully for control of his faculties. This was the face that so many of Freeman's victims had seen in their last moments – and he knew, staring into the void, that he would join them.

"H... Heh..." The hand snaked out towards him, aiming directly at his heart...

The explosion rang deafeningly in Jae Hoon's ears, his fingers unlocking themselves from around Freeman's neck as the body was suddenly jerked away from his hands. His eyes watering from the acrid stench of cordite that had suddenly pervaded the field, he stumbled back in a shower of gore, losing his footing for a brief moment – and then he felt the strength of many arms supporting him as his fall stopped. The shots continued unabated, resounding through the street... and then they fell silent.

He blinked the tears from his eyes as he looked up, and the first thing he saw was Jun's worried face. "Jae... are you okay?" she asked.

He smiled weakly, ignoring the pain in his side that flared up yet again. "I'll be fine," he began, relieved to see his girlfriend again – and then he recoiled suddenly. "Freeman!"

Jun moved aside silently. Across from him, he could see Kevin Rian standing over the killer's body, his revolver still smoking. Struggling, he pulled away from the hands that supported him – he recognised the uniforms of the Second Southtown Police that they wore, and his parents behind them – and made his way over to the sergeant's side.

"You okay, Jae?"

He nodded dumbly.

"That was a close one." Kevin gripped the revolver tightly in his frostbitten fingers, looking down at Freeman. "He earned every bullet. It's over."

Jae Hoon followed the direction of his gaze, staring blankly. Freeman's head had been savaged by the shots: its upper half had been practically obliterated when the bullets did their deadly work. What was left was a smear of dark blood, mottled by shattered fragments of brain and bone and spread across the starkly-white snow. Of the lower half, nothing was left but the cadaverous grin, which kept leering at him – it was a cruel expression, as devoid of humanity in death as it had been in life.

But that face no longer held any terror for them. Not anymore.

* * *

Rock reeled, clutching his eyes as the searing pain bit into him like a jet of acid. Blindly, he rolled away across the rubble-strewn floor, shards of shattered marble tearing through his clothes and scoring deep into his skin. To him, such injuries were nothing compared to the starburst of pain that exploded in his head: it incapacitated him, leaving him writhing on the ground in mortal agony, incapable of doing anything else.

All his senses had been blotted out by the suffering that prevailed over his body and mind. Still, he struggled to his feet in an aimless daze, red-hot stingers piercing into his skin every time he made contact with the ground. His vision refused to clear; the world remained dark even as his ears, flooded by the deafening silence of white noise, began to hear its first sounds from the world around him.

And he thought he heard a voice: "Don't come any closer."

_Mother?_

* * *

"Don't come any closer," the woman cried, pulling the child behind her. "Isn't it enough that the boy shares your blood? Why must you drag him down the same path that you walk?"

Geese's voice revealed no emotion. "He is a Howard, and the Howards were born to fight."

"So were the Heinleins," Marie snarled, igniting a jet of purple energy from the palm of her free hand. The young boy cried out, recognising his mother in the glow of the ki. "And I'll not hand him over to you."

"Give him to me," her husband reiterated, "and I will make him the strongest fighter that this world has ever witnessed. He has the potential – you know it, for he shares your blood as well as mine."

Her eyes shone in grief as she took another step back. "He'll share nothing more from you, Geese, than what you've already forced upon him. I will not have the son end up like his father – a lying, backstabbing, duplicitous hoodlum!"

"Then take him and go," the future King of Crime spat in disgust. "I have no need for weaklings."

"He will not be weak." Marie swore. "But I will not have him tainted by the world that you have gone back to, Geese. This child will have a future, unlike you – you who continue to sink deeper and deeper into the underworld at the expense of everything. You will never be satisfied, but as long as this child turns out a better man than his father... I will be content."

He turned his back on mother and child as the sound of stumbling footsteps receded into the distance, and a brief spark of regret sprang up in his heart.

After some thought, he snuffed it out.

* * *

_It can't be her. So... who's there?_

* * *

"You'll not lay another hand on him."

Hotaru spun at Kain, her hands a blur as she struck with blinding speed, but Kain fended off the attacks easily. "You must be that man's daughter," he noted with calm dignity. "Save your strength, girl."

"And let you kill him?" she cried, launching a kick at Kain's jaw, which he avoided with ease. Still moving, he dodged the next of her attacks, letting Hotaru's glowing foot sweep past his body before striking out with a backhanded slap. The girl flipped backwards, dodging the blow as she landed lightly on her feet in a low crouch, and instantly resumed the assault with a swift palm strike to Kain's midsection. "I must decline."

"As you wish," he replied, smiling at her with a face that was almost beatific. "But I do hope you'll consider your own health first: after all, this building is on the verge of self-destruction."

The words stopped her as surely as one of his blows, and she dropped back, too stunned to attack any further. "What... what are you talking about?"

"What, he didn't tell you?" he exclaimed in mock surprise. "Well... I owe Goto a professional favour, so I might as well bring you up to date." Hotaru stiffened at the mention of her father's name, but did not interrupt. "You've seen what happened tonight."

"Yes," she replied faintly, sickened.

Kain smiled cruelly. "Expect more of the same, then. The bomb below this building is not much different from the others – except, of course, that it uses an alternative power source. Enter Rock. As you can see, he's been fighting at full tilt for quite a while already: I'd say he's been completely drained by now."

She started, remembering the immense pillar of energy that had saved her from the blast. If Rock had only used a small part of his power back then... "What have you done to him?" she exclaimed in horror, crouching down at Rock's side.

"Worry about yourself, Miss Futaba. This explosion will probably destroy everything in a ten-block radius, at the very least. If you leave now, you might just stand a chance of survival..." Kain looked down pointedly at his fallen nephew, who writhed on the ground, still locked in throes of agony. There would be no reprieve for this one – the last Howard would have to be eliminated. But he offered the daughter of his former employee – he laughed inwardly, remembering the animosity that had grown between Goto and himself – a chance. All she had to do was to take it and run...

She forced out her reply with difficulty, her voice a barely-audible whisper in the hall. "No."

"I expected as much." He sighed in disappointment, seeming almost resigned to accepting her choice. "You're quite the tenacious one, just like the rest of your family. But if I may be allowed to give one parting piece of advice..." He trailed off, the look on his face reverting to an emotionless mask.

"Go on."

"Don't waste your life on a Howard, girl," Kain continued coldly. "My sister made that mistake once, and it cost her everything. I strongly advise you not to follow in her footsteps."

She didn't reply. He picked up the suitcase, which remained remarkably intact in spite of the heavy fighting that had enveloped the lobby, and walked out into the night.

* * *

He knew she was there, though all he saw was darkness and all he heard was the sound of the wailing wind. And he knew that she watched him with fear and disgust, as though he was some abhorrent beast or monster.

_She would not have been far from the truth._ "Leave."

"What will you do now?" she asked, reaching out for him tremulously. She could see faint traces of energy building up on the tips of his fingers, and the feeling of dread intensified; the worst was yet to come.

He did not see her gesture. "If I can blow the top off the generator, the power will be released upwards instead of outwards. That way, it should reduce the blast radius by a bit." He didn't add that no matter how small the explosion was, it wouldn't change the fact that he would be standing directly over it.

But she knew. And if what Kain had said was true, and Rock was at the limit of his endurance... "You'll kill yourself," she exclaimed, her voice a horrified whisper.

"So be it," Rock hissed through gritted teeth, clutching his wrist as violet tendrils began to snake around his clenched fist. "Leave... now!"

She did not comply. "Why do you have to do this?"

"Isn't it obvious? Because of my indecision, all this happened..."

His despondence infuriated her when all of Kain's words could not: she refused to abide with his decision to perish. "You're being stupid, Rock Howard."

He whirled around in the direction of her voice, facing her for the first time. There was no mark on his face where Kain's slash had landed, but its integrity was deceiving: Rock's eyes stared lifelessly into emptiness, unfocused and blind. She recoiled at the sight, and Rock heard it; a self-loathing, bitter laugh escaped his lips as he heard her expected reaction.

As horrified as she was, the sight did not deter her. "You heard me. If you want to claim responsibility for all this, it's your business – it's not my place to challenge you. But what makes you think that you can atone for all this by killing yourself? There are people waiting for you, Rock – people who care about you, who don't want to see you end up like this. But all you think about is your own reputation; you haven't even given any thought to what they really feel. They have more faith in you than you do in them –"

"That faith was misplaced!" he screamed. "They counted on me to turn Kain in, but I couldn't – and look at what happened!"

She ignored him and continued to rail, her utter desperation lending strength to her accusations: "You're a coward, aren't you? You're afraid to face the consequences of your actions, so you think that by sacrificing yourself 'for the sake of Second Southtown' in a blaze of glory, you'll somehow redeem yourself in everyone else's eyes." She paused, the words catching in her throat as she tried to turn him aside.

There was no reply. "What rubbish!" Hotaru exclaimed, allowing herself to lapse into scorn for a brief moment before outrage took over once more. "Do you think Terry and Mary will be happy to visit your grave? What about everyone from the Illusion? Will they enjoy drinking to your memory? And all those who've helped you thus far – the ones you told me of, the Kims – are you spitting on all they've done for you? You think you're being 'selfless', but all I see is a self-centred fool who's trying to assuage his wounded pride at any cost!"

He flinched at her words, feeling the stern rebuke as keenly as a tight slap to the face. But it served its purpose. Hotaru saw him unclench his fist, his fingers trembling, and let out a tiny sigh of relief as she saw the energy vanish from his hand; for the time being, at least, his suicidal resolve had been weakened.

"Think, Rock Howard." Her faltering voice delivered its ultimatum. "If you give up now... who wins?"

The realisation struck him – to die there would only gratify his uncle's desire. And even if the only reason for his survival was to spite the one who intended to wipe the Howards from memory... he would choose that path simply because it was there. But an underlying current of thought flowed beneath the superficial desire for vengeance. And he found, as he searched it, that his reason for holding back was even clearer.

She was there. As long as she remained, his hands were tied: continuing with his plan would kill her as surely as if he'd struck her down himself. And he could not do it.

But if she stayed... "I don't have a choice. Take a look at me now – I can't even find my way out of this building, let alone escape. But you can," he breathed heavily. "I'll only slow you down. It's better for me to stay here and give you a chance..."

"You're still being selfish, Rock. How low must you sink before you realise that you can't do everything? As it stands, you don't have the power to save yourself – it would be foolish to think otherwise." Her hand lightly touched his cheek, and he drew away involuntarily, shocked by the sudden contact. "But you don't have to go through this alone."

It finally struck him. What she offered... "No! I can't let you..." He flung his hands out, reaching blindly for her in panic.

Her hand left his face to grasp his wildly-flailing arm, and she silenced him gently with calm words. "Listen to me." There was a new firmness in her words that he recognised, one that underlay her resolve to remain. And there was something familiar in her tone – a maternal, comforting sweetness that compelled Rock to cease his struggling. He vaguely remembered its echoes from a time long past, though the speaker and the words were starkly different...

"We're coming out of this alive, Rock – both of us. But I need you to trust me... something that you haven't done up to now, even if the rest of us have counted on you thus far." Her accusing tone had vanished: there was no malice in her words, but only a deep sorrow. Still, it tore deeply into Rock's wounded psyche as he recognised the truth in her statement. "I know it's hard for you to do this. But even if it's only this once and never again..."

He didn't know what to do. To put his life into another's hands, to surrender all control... She was right: it was the hardest thing for him to do. For one who had lived under the shadow of distrust and cruelty, the sudden expectation was almost too much to ask for.

He made his reply.

* * *

With a deafening roar, the pillar of light ascended into the sky as it devoured the shadows greedily.

At the relief outpost, the cup of rapidly-cooling coffee fell from Terry's hands. "Wha..." he mumbled, a terrible sense of dread flowing over him. _This shouldn't be happening. Over there... Geese – no, Heinlein Tower..._

_Rock!_

* * *

The time for safety had long passed. Neither side cared for defence; each killer was out for the other's blood.

"You asked me why I borrowed your name," Gato mocked, swiping at his father. Goto simply took the hit on the thick of his shoulder, getting under his son's guard, and clawed upwards at the exposed chest. It was only a quick backwards dodge that spared Gato from anything more severe than flesh wounds; still, the blood seeping through his clothing testified as to their depth. Gritting his teeth, he roared, "All that was mine, even my life and the memories of the family I knew – you tore it all away from me when you 'killed' me that day, and the only thing that kept me going was hatred. But that same hatred had been set earlier within my heart, from the moment you cast me out of the family... it's taken me this far. Now, everything that you took from me, and everything that you claim – even your name and your life... I'll take it all back!"

"Is that it?" Goto was audacious enough to sound surprised. He struck back with a heavy, swinging fist; Gato caught the impact on his forearm, feeling a distinctive crack as a stab of pain rushed through it. Ignoring it, he hammered down at his father's head – but Goto swept his head aside as the blow missed its target, smashing into his shoulder. The older man leapt away and taunted his son with stinging words, his right arm hanging uselessly from its socket. "You sacrificed your sister for the sake of jealousy? You're even shallower than I thought, Hiroshi. I should have killed you that day –"

There was a rumbling noise in the distance, like the distant roll of thunder, and Goto instinctively flinched as he remembered what it had signified – and where his daughter had gone. For one fleeting instant, his self-control – a trait that he had so successfully maintained over the years of killing – counted for nothing as he turned his head ever so slightly in the direction of Heinlein Tower, seeing the first rays of light.

"Too bad, old man."

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Gato's one good fist speeding towards him, crackling with golden energy as it blazed into his unprotected side. Then there was the dull, heavy sound of impact, and he felt a sudden, tearing rush of pain as he fell to the ground.

And then the wave crashed down on them.

* * *

"Did you hear that?"

"Yeah. It doesn't look good..." Dong Hwan muttered as he watched Itokatsu paw the ground nervously. The ferret's hackles were raised again, making noises that he could have sworn were screams of terror. "I'll go check it out." He stuck his head around the corner.

The spotlight left his fingers, its beam dying as it crashed onto the ground, but the street was still illuminated – the oncoming light had seen to that.

"CRAP!" he yelled, signalling for Jenet to escape as he dashed past her. "Incoming!" The pirate captain wasted no time in picking up the ferret and following suit. Man, woman and animal sprinted down the street and away from the blast, but as hard as they tried, the wall of light only gained on them with every second that they fled. Dong Hwan could not resist looking back, curiosity overcoming his terror for one brief moment. It was almost upon them...

From beyond his field of vision, he heard Jenet scream, "No time for that, dimwit!" She flung herself heavily at him, bringing him to the ground, and the two hapless searchers suddenly found themselves surrounded by an unbearable brightness as it washed over their prone frames.

* * *

Goto coughed, sending a spatter of crimson across the white ground. His strength was failing, his eyes clouding with impending darkness even in the light that flooded the zone... That one fateful blow had been the decider; his internal injuries would be fatal, if not immediately so. And even then, his son would have finished him off without hesitation.

But Gato was no longer interested in the fight.

Goto watched as the ethereal shield shimmered around them, forming a protective bubble that blocked out the deadly rays: Gato's fist formed its centre as it glowed with the very same energy that had brought his father down. Secure in the integrity of his defence, the victor scourged his dying father with words of burning hatred.

"So, this is Kain's reward for the faithful," he heard Gato say, voice distorted through clenched teeth. His back remained turned as he gathered his power, strengthening the wall as it warped and writhed in the face of the external pressure that tested it. "What did Kain promise you, old fool, that you would throw your lot in with him – even to this end? His words, like yours, were all empty lies... How ironic."

_Kain__ promised me two underworlds: the dark side of society and the pugilistic realm. Now, he gives me a third one, for that is what Second Southtown has become – and Kain shall reign in this Hell, even if I cannot._

With an almighty effort, Goto dragged himself towards the very edge of the sphere. His clawed fingers scrabbled at Gato's shield as he gathered what dying energy yet remained into them, forcing the lifeless digits into the fabric of the barrier...

...and there was a sound, like the crackling of ice, as spiders of fragility began to form in the golden weave. Gato whirled around, his face a mix of hatred and horror as he realised what his father had done – but it was too late. First one leak appeared in the barrier, and then another one, and then the next... and the wave was upon them, drowning out everything around them in a sea of light and fire.

_Welcome to the underworld, Hiroshi._

The road, Goto realised, was a well-lit one.

* * *

The light faded away slowly, giving way to darkness once more, and it was only then that Jenet dared to open her eyes. Peering out of the shallow ditch which they had landed in, she noted the fine edge that marked the limits of the blast – the line between life and death for them, in their case – and was thankful that her flying tackle had landed them on safe ground. "Well, that was a close one. You okay?"

Beneath her, she heard Dong Hwan's muffled voice calling, "Yeah, I'm fine. I mean, it's not like I mind having a sexy lady on top of me..."

Red-faced, Jenet scrambled off his prone form in a hurry – making sure to 'accidentally' hit him in the ribs in the process. "Serves you right," she fumed, watching in retribution as he cringed in pain. "We escape by the skin of our teeth, and that's the first thing you can think of?"

"Give me a break, will ya? I just got back from whooping Rock's ass on Saturday, and now this..."

She cocked an eyebrow at him as she dusted herself off. "Really?"

"It's a long story: maybe I'll tell you about it one of these days. Right now, though, I think we've got more immediate matters to deal with..." He pointed at Itokatsu; the ferret was already scurrying out of the ditch, and the two of them were compelled to follow as it scrambled down the street – or what was left of it.

There was nothing left of Heinlein Tower or its surroundings: in its place, there was only a smooth bowl that dipped shallowly into the ground, as though the crater had been neatly scraped out of the streets of Second Southtown. Snow was already beginning to cover the scorched earth again, replacing the heavy snowfall that had melted away in the heat of the explosion. As far as the eye could see, nothing could have survived... _No. There's something there,_ Dong Hwan sensed, rushing ahead.

He was not disappointed.

At the epicentre of the blast lay a shimmering blue cocoon, glowing in the dark like a distant star. Itokatsu led the way, dashing like a brown bullet towards it – and that could only have meant one thing.

Dong Hwan slowed down as he approached it, Jenet catching up with him, and they looked at it in trepidation, knowing and yet still unsure of what they would find. On an impulse, he reached out a finger and prodded the azure marble lightly – and it evaporated with an audible sizzle.

It was Hotaru Futaba's face that appeared, pale and tear-stained, before their eyes. Jenet was shocked to see how wan the girl looked: the very life seemed to have been drained from her face as she gazed blankly to the sky, her breathing shallow. _Still, she's breathing – and that's always good,_ the blonde thought. "She's still with us," she called to her companion – but Dong Hwan wasn't listening.

His eyes were fixed on the limp, lifeless body that lay in Hotaru's lap.

"Rock!" He crouched low, aghast at the sight of his fallen friend. Of the pair, Rock was in decidedly worse shape – the thick smears of blood that stained his mouth and nostrils gave testimony to the strain that he had gone through. There was no sign that he was even alive: his body just lay there, like a tattered rag doll in the arms of its disconsolate owner.

_Of course the idiot would have been on the scene,_ Dong Hwan cursed silently, any pretence at joviality forgotten. _I wouldn't have expected anything less from him._ Then, barely regaining his composure, he did what would have been expected of him: he reached for one drooping wrist, searching in vain for a last spark of hope.

And as though in a trance, he heard a faint whisper from above his bowed head, sounding in time with the first beats of Rock's weak pulse: "He'll... be... fine..."

Dong Hwan looked up, but Hotaru's eyes were already closing.

* * *

Notes:

I took longer than expected to finish this chapter, but now all that's left is for me to tie up the loose ends. Sorry for the delay and the rough edges... I might make amendments later on, but you'll all have to settle for this for the time being.

C&C is greatly appreciated.

Edited 14/06/2005: Well, I touched up a few scenes, but there haven't really been any major changes.

Peachrocks: Hey, no action story is ever complete without a self-destruct device, didn't you know? ;) You might just want to note, however, that Kain's been trying to set Rock up for the explosion ever since the end of the previous chapter (note Kain's own diminishing of power). It's all in the plan... (Also note that I'm passing plot contrivances off as dramatic irony in trying to have the engineer hoisted with his own petard, as they say.)

Everyone else: It's not over yet! Stick around!


	15. EP: Dawn

Blood

Epilogue: Dawn

By Fool's Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury), Ryuuko no Ken (Art of Fighting), The King of Fighters, and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

* * *

"Yo... where's Dong Hwan?" queried Duck King, stretching his cramped limbs as he exited the submarine. The twin waitresses and the now-conscious customer followed suit, giving Jenet looks of curious interest that bordered on suspicion.

She didn't even bat an eyelid. "He should be back at the police outpost by now. It's at Blue Wave Harbour – you can't miss it."

"Yeah, we know the way. Thanks." The bartender made to leave, but a sudden thought held him back. Turning to their benefactor, he gave her the once-over before declaring, "Ya know, Dong Hwan was right."

"Hmmm?"

"He vouched f'ya, sayin' ya were a good person... if a lil' flaky," he explained with disarming frankness. "Dat's da only reason we agreed ta stick around – s'hard ta trust people wearin' da skull an' crossbones, y'know?"

She wasn't surprised.

"But anyway, ya treated us fairly, an' yer pretty much okay in our books. So howsabout a date...?"

"_Come on_, Duck," Elizabeth muttered as she tugged hard on his earlobe. To Jenet, however, she continued, "Well, the same goes for all of us. Thanks – and when the Illusion's up and running again, we'll see that King gives you and your crew a round on the house... even if it bankrupts us."

Jenet laughed heartily at the joke. "I'll hold you to that," she countered, winking at them in amusement. The tension that had lingered ever since nightfall had finally dissipated, leaving nothing but lingering traces behind as they began the long walk across what remained of the town...

...or so Jenet had hoped. But the smile on her face vanished once they were out of sight.

_Really?_ She watched them depart, wondering if what they said was true. After all, she had other things to do...

* * *

"You don't want to be around when the cavalry comes in. Here," Dong Hwan said, coolly handing her the torch which she had given up for dead. "I recharged the batteries."

To her surprise, it actually worked. "And you?"

"Oh, the ferret and I stay. The cops should be here any minute now."

She accepted it, grudgingly grateful for his assistance. "So... I guess I owe you..."

"That goes without saying," Dong Hwan remarked arrogantly. "But this should cover it..."

He pulled her close, pressing his lips onto hers, and time stopped in the inky darkness for the pair. The world seemed to spin around them as they stood, lost and intoxicated as they continued that kiss...

...and the next thing Dong Hwan knew, he was curled up on the ground as serious shooting pains began to radiate from his groin.

"Damn you!" Jenet cursed huffily, lowering her knee. "Try anything like that next time, and I swear you'll find my stiletto so far up your ass the doctors won't find it!"

"Eheh..." Dong Hwan groaned, still in good enough shape to crack a twisted grin. "Don't deny it – you enjoyed that."

"Idiot." She looked down at him, shaking her head in disgust, and helped him up reluctantly. "Your friends are in bad shape, and all you can think about is..."

"Hey, don't give me that look," the young man protested. "Knowing my luck, I'll never get a chance to collect on that debt... Besides, we've done all we can." The last sentence was spoken in a strange manner, his mood suddenly shifting from lechery to sobriety.

He looked down at Rock and Hotaru's motionless forms on the ground, suppressing the surge of frustration that welled up when he knew that they were powerless to do anything more than make them comfortable. "Now hurry up," he chided, not wanting her to see the mournful look in his eyes – it would have been too uncharacteristic of him to even show a shred of sadness.

"Dong Hwan..."

"Don't you have something to do?"

He failed: the words left his lips sounding more like an accusation than a reminder – or at least, that was how it sounded to Jenet's ears. "I... I..."

Words failed her, and she ran off into the night.

* * *

_A good person... Yeah, right._ "You can come out now. The coast is clear."

A faint purple light sprang up from within the shadows on the far end of the shore, and her client walked out into the beam of the spotlights that shone from the submarine's prow.

"Good evening to you too." Kain, ever in control of himself, carried himself with a cool, composed air: there was no sign of exhaustion or fatigue on his face. If not for what she had witnessed, Jenet would never have guessed that the man who stood before her had faced Death several times over in the space of that night, or that he had done it all of his own choice – and come up the winner every time. "As always, you look wonderful."

"Shut up," came her brusque reply. "Flattery will get you nowhere – only your passage fee can do that."

"It's just like you to be straight to the point." He raised the briefcase and opened it, revealing the neatly-stacked wads of notes within. She picked up one bundle, examining the bills without her usual avarice. They were genuine – and just to make sure, she did the same with the rest of the suitcase's contents.

"They're good," she replied grudgingly. "Well, that's one promise you didn't break... for once."

Kain shut the suitcase with a snap. "I'll hang on to it until we reach our destination... just in case. And I'm saddened to hear that you think so little of me."

"The feeling's mutual. Get on board."

* * *

Rock came to, more aware of his surroundings than the nurse in attendance realised.

He saw nothing: his eyes had been bandaged up, and they were shut tight beneath the fabric. But he could feel the restraints on his wrists and legs, thick strips of leather that bound him to the bed and kept him immobile. And he could hear the slow, hissing sound of air flowing through filters into the room where he was being held...

And he remembered.

The largest part of his incarceration had been spent in a semiconscious haze; he could only remember the rare instances where he had come out of his stupor, and even then only to thrash and writhe like a madman as he found himself locked in the throes of a fevered panic. His body, weakened by exertion and pain, could muster no more than a brief struggle, but it was still enough frighten his minders – pale, vaguely human forms without faces or features – into sedating him. And then he knew little else.

He still didn't – the drug still worked its effects on him, leaving his brain clouded and his memory hazy. A part of it nagged at him, telling him that he was forgetting something... but every time he tried to work it out, his mind refused to focus on it, leaving the past sealed away. All he could manage was a glimpse into his recollections; he remembered running out of the door, damning papers in hand, and then a flash of light and the sound of rushing wind... but his disordered thoughts yielded nothing more.

He turned his foggy attention to more pressing matters. W_here is this?_ he thought, the drug keeping him calm enough to refrain from straining against the bonds that held him down. There was no sound of wind or snow, so he knew he had to be indoors, in a place with power – that was the only way he could explain the filters. And he had been captured... but by whom, he knew not.

There was a faint sound of sliding metal, and he heard voices – familiar ones that grew louder as they approached. He recognised them instantly; the anxiety that he felt lessened slightly, subconsciously comforted as he was by the presence of friends.

"...so while Dad and I were fighting our butts off, you were busy gallivanting around with..."

"It's not like I had a choice, right?"

"Quit it, you two. We're in the ward already, so pipe down. Sorry, Miss, but we'd like to visit the patient." There was a rustle of curtains.

_The ward?__ Then this must be a hospital..._ "Jun... Jae Hoon... Dong Hwan... What are you doing here?"

He heard a stifled cough, and then Jae Hoon's awed voice: "You're awake."

It sounded as though the young man had just seen a ghost... _which wouldn't be too far from the truth,_ he realised. "How long have I been out, and where am I?" he asked, only just recognising the groggy slur in his voice.

"Eh, you've been in and out of consciousness for the past three days or so." Rock heard the shuffling of feet, presumably from the rasp of Jae Hoon's shoes on the floor. "But as for where we are... that's a very good question."

It was a good ten seconds before Rock raised his eyebrows in bewilderment. "What?"

"What he means," Dong Hwan continued, frustration evident in his voice, "is that we were marched off at gunpoint by a bunch of uniformed goons, blindfolded and dragged on board some helicopters, and have absolutely no freakin' idea where we are now!" He shouted the last phrase, and Rock felt the bed frame shake as something pounded into it – presumably, his fist. And then, in a slightly calmer voice, he added, "You know, this would have been so cool in the movies..."

"What? What's going on?" The haze in his head wasn't helping his understanding of the situation, and coupled to the vague answers that his friends gave...

"I'll explain it to him." A deathly silence fell over the room, leaving only the perpetual hiss in the background to fill it.

This voice was different. And there was _something_ about that voice that made the hair on Rock's skin rise – it was one that exuded clinical efficiency, steel-tempered and controlled to precision. There was no discernible emotion in it at all, and a hated image flashed before Rock's closed eyes; his uncle had always stressed the importance of complete control.

Was the newcomer such a person too?

He couldn't hear his friends anymore: it sounded as though they'd simply vanished from the room. He didn't fault them. "Who... are you?"

"The name's Heidern. You might find it familiar."

The mere mention of that name chilled Rock to the core as he finally recognised the man behind the voice: this was the same Heidern that Terry had once mentioned in passing – the leader of an elite team of mercenaries, famed for having played a pivotal role in nearly every flashpoint around the globe in the previous thirty years... and feared as one of the most dangerous men in the world.

In his drug-addled state, Rock couldn't do anything but remain calm – and he was grudgingly grateful for it. "Where am I?"

"You're in our custody for the time being, in one of our medical facilities. Unfortunately, that's all you're allowed to know." There was a note of warning in Heidern's words, and Rock sensed that no further questions about their location would be answered.

Reluctantly, he asked his next question. "You said you'd explain things. What happened? And why am I like this?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Rock struggled to recall the last thing that had happened, but the sedative's effects proved too strong. He shook his head wordlessly, a gesture that Heidern interpreted correctly as one of acute confusion rather than denial. "I expected that," the commander continued matter-of-factly. "Allow me to update you, then."

Heidern recited the events of that night like a mantra, his invariant voice divorcing fact from grim reality. "At the time of the first explosions, you were seen at the house of one Elizabeth Yardsley..."

* * *

"...and you detonated the final bomb." The sound of rustling paper reached Rock's ears, signalling the end of the report. "Do you remember?"

He nodded numbly, his scattered recollections finally taking a coherent form. It sounded correct... and as he began to remember that night's events, his thoughts began to take on a despondent turn. If the truth was out – that he was the one responsible, in part, for the destruction of Second Southtown – then there was no escaping his fate. _It's the death penalty for mass murderers, isn't it? _"So why am I like this?" he asked perfunctorily, knowing that the answer didn't make a difference.

"When we arrived, you'd been brought back to the SSP's relief outpost by your friends out there. So we brought all of you in for questioning... and in the meantime, you injured one of my best men in your frenzy the first time you woke up," Heidern stated coldly, "hence, the restraints and drugs. As for the blindfold... you were blinded by Kain's slash. The damage isn't permanent; the doctors say it'll be a year or so before you recover your sight."

"Heh." A bitter laugh escaped from Rock's lips. "I guess that means you won't need the blindfolds when you decide to shoot me." His gallows humour was born from desperation: in the face of the impending death that he perceived, blindness no longer mattered.

Heidern remained unmoved by Rock's depression. "We have no intention of executing you, Rock Howard. I wouldn't have given you the prognosis otherwise."

_What? _Lost as he was in a drug-fuelled depression, he wasn't sure if he'd heard the mercenary commander correctly. Aloud, he repeated, "What?"

"We cannot hold you accountable for something you did not know would happen, and we also know that you were under impaired judgement at the time of the fight. In addition, based on extrapolation of the residual energy at Ground Zero, there was enough power stored in the last bomb to destroy half the city. As it stands, though, your act reduced the blast radius to about a hundred and fifty metres." The pause in Heidern's words allowed him to sink the point in. "You saved a lot of people."

_I'm not going to die... _A sudden thought cut through the fog, destroying the brief elation that he had felt in that instant: _how does he know all this?_ The details in the report had been uncannily accurate, up to the fight with his uncle and the power source of the bomb in the basement – and there was no way that anyone could have witnessed it.

Then he remembered: someone else had been there that night. Someone who had shielded him from the explosion that would have killed him otherwise...

"Hotaru!" _How could I have forgotten?_ He strained at his bonds, struggling to break free, but he remained too weak to loose himself from the bed. "Where is she? Is she safe? What have you done with her?" His questions shot out rapidly, the stupor wiped completely from his mind as it went through the worst possible scenarios: if she had taken the brunt of the blast in his place, it could only have meant that...

"She was better off than you were when we brought you two in: severely exhausted, but otherwise unharmed," Heidern said, neatly interrupting his train of thought. "As a matter of fact, she's been asking for you ever since she woke up. I'll send her in."

The footsteps started again and receded into the distance, punctuated at the end by the opening and closing of the doors, and Rock sank back onto the firm mattress. _She's okay..._ In his relief, he barely realised that his heart was still pounding heavily from the anxiety and fear that had shot through him at that one moment. _Let them do what they want to me now: it doesn't matter anymore..._

"Rock!"

The cry of surprise was accompanied by the sound of pattering steps, so different from the measured cadence of Heidern's march – her feet were light on the tiled floor as she ran towards him. And then, he felt her soft arms around his shoulders and her head on his chest as she hugged him tightly... "You're awake," she whispered. "Your eyes..."

"Nah, it's okay." His own voice sounded lighter now. "It'll get better."

"That's good."

"Yeah..." He tried to smile, but stopped short: there was a warm wetness on his chest, and her soft sobbing reached his ears. "What's wrong?"

"No... It's just... I'm glad." But her sadness gave the lie to her words, and Rock could hear the pain in her voice – and he could do nothing to help her.

He found himself saying, "...It's okay. Just tell me about it." And as he spoke, the floodgates were broken down – and she began to talk.

"I met my father on the way to Heinlein Tower."

* * *

"I used to think that maybe, if I found my brother, I would be able to talk him into coming back. But when I actually met him, I couldn't do anything. _He_ was the one who led me on; it was as though I was struggling against him, instead of convincing him into giving up his ways. And it was the same when I met my father – I didn't even try to talk to him. I was even prepared to fight, but not to reason."

Rock had no words for her: he was overwhelmed by the guilt that shrouded his mind. He could not help but feel responsible for her family's death: the evidence that he had delivered had only served to poison Hotaru's mind against her family members. If he hadn't given her the documents, perhaps...

"I once believed that words were more effective than fists – that talking to them could, eventually, overcome force. But I was wrong. I couldn't save them. All I could do was argue with them, and unsuccessfully... And now, who knows what's happened to them?" It was rhetorical: there could have been no good end to that fight. "Maybe I was deluding myself into thinking that I could make a difference," she whimpered. "I... I couldn't stop them. Just like when Mrs. Yardsley died, or when everything went to pieces... I couldn't do anything." She broke down into a fit of weeping as she spoke, her helplessness pouring out in every word she spoke.

Those last words triggered a sense of outrage within Rock – and he heard echoes of his own words, spoken many days before, in hers. Hadn't he also lamented about his inability to do anything? But her case was different. She had spoken the words that had released him from his suicidal intent; she had single-handedly dragged him out of the depths which he had sunken into. "You saved me, didn't you? You broke through when there was no-one else to help me... and you kept your promise: you got us out alive. So you didn't fail..."

He instantly knew that he had spoken the wrong words – it was too selfish, too callous to even assume that his survival could do anything to ease the pain of her loss. But those were the only words he had to console her with: no similar words had been spoken to him when his mother had passed away, a nameless drifter in an alley, or when his father had fallen, unmourned and reviled by the people Southtown. All he could remember was Terry's hand silently reaching out to him on that dark night.

He had spoken in haste. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." He trailed off, waiting for the inevitable outburst of anger.

But her soft crying ceased, and she replied understandingly, "No, there's nothing for you to be sorry about."

It perplexed him. "What do you mean?"

"I had to pass through them to reach you; it was my choice to leave them behind. I was afraid – afraid that you would go their way, too stubborn to listen and too proud to back down. And if you had, I would have lost all hope. I wanted you to live, Rock."

The words skimmed lightly over his consciousness, leaving him stunned with every touch that it made. He wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly: what did she mean? She'd given her family up on his account... The guilt he felt only intensified, but it was mingled with something else – a strange new feeling that he couldn't quite understand.

And it didn't feel so bad.

Her hand left his shoulder momentarily, only to fall back on his cheek, and he could feel the cool dampness of tears on it. "My family is gone, and I have nowhere to return to. All I have left is here, in Second Southtown, with the one who helped me through all this. So please... stay with me."

_I never wanted to see her cry._ But she had cried, and nothing he did would change that. The best he could do was to work from there, to help make up for what she had lost...

The voice of doubt reached him: _What makes you think you're worthy of fixing things?_ it taunted. _What makes you think that you, the one who brought her so much grief and pain, can do anything to make things right? Your hands are only fit for destruction; you'll ruin things, just like you did before._

This time, though, he had an answer. Instinctively, he knew what his reply would be: _She thinks I'm worth it. That's all that matters._

"I'll try."

* * *

Heidern retreated out of the room silently, holding in his hands the report that he had personally compiled.

In his experience, he'd learnt to assume nothing about the future; it was an unwritten law that anything that could happen, would happen. But to have to go through the events of 2000 all over again – and compounded several times over – was a disaster that should have never happened.

But it had.

The internal audit two years before had thrown up some very disturbing findings. There were discrepancies in a researcher's account; the records showed periodic deposits that were out of the range of the man's pay bracket. Further investigation localised the source of the payout to various Swiss bank accounts, an even more disturbing occurrence that deepened their suspicions about the scientist.

After several rounds of heavy interrogation, the man finally revealed that he had made some copies of blueprints from their archives for sale on the black market. A thorough examination of his computer, only accessible after thorough decryption, confirmed it: the logs of deleted files proved to be the smoking gun. And to complicate matters, all the blueprints came from their Tech archive – specifically, captured plans for weapons of mass destruction. Among these was the plan for the Zero Cannon, recovered in the wreckage of NESTS's base beneath one of Southtown's dilapidated industrial complexes.

The worldwide sting operation, launched in the wake of such a serious security breach, was almost completely successful. But one copy of the cannon's blueprints was recovered only in part; it seemed as though the missing pages had vanished into thin air.

It was now clear where they'd gone: back to their place of origin. From there, it would have been a simple matter for Kain R. Heinlein, the owner of a giant industrial conglomerate, to manufacture multiple power capacitors under the pretext of commercial appliances. And while the space-based weapon was no longer functional – they'd seen to that personally – it was easy enough to set the storage batteries to overload.

This last part was conjecture, he realised. There was no hard proof: Kain had specifically targeted his own property, wiping out any material evidence that had ever existed. Similarly, the best witnesses would have been Kain's henchmen... but none of them were to be found. From what Blue Mary had told him, the majority had been stationed at the Southtown Expo at the time of detonation, and searches had turned up no survivors.

The youth, Rock Howard... he knew nothing. His information was limited to what he had included in the confession, the one they'd found in the house that Hotaru had worked in – circumstantial evidence, at best, and all completely unrelated to the present bombings. But his men didn't deal with uncertainties. And when that was coupled to all the other information that they had gleaned, from information on Hotaru's father – a regrettable tragedy, but the girl's family affairs were beyond their scope of investigation – to the matter of Freeman's association, it formed a complicated web that would stymie even the toughest investigator.

The police would have to deal with all that; civil matters were under their jurisdiction. Their own duty was to hunt Kain down, to ensure that this disaster never happened again...

_That was what we said the last time,_ he thought regretfully, and placed the report back into its envelope with its accompanying documents. He slipped the whole into his coat before entering the next ward, calling out, "He's awake."

Terry raised his head from his position on the bed, revealing the shadows that had collected under his eyes in the past few days. But that didn't dampen his happiness. He exclaimed, "That's a relief!"

"I wouldn't recommend going in any time soon, though." There was a note of dry amusement in Heidern's voice, even though the commander wasn't suited to such emotion. "He and that girl have some... issues... to settle."

"That's good to hear, and I don't think getting up is an option anyway," Mary noted from her place in the opposite bed, sighing in resignation. "I guess frostbite was inevitable..."

"Probably. You're lucky our medics didn't have to amputate."

Mary wondered if that was a shred of sympathy that she heard in Heidern's voice, but decided not to push her luck. "That reminds me... I know Leona's helping out with the relief operations over on the mainland, but I haven't seen Ralf or Clark anywhere."

"They're on a mission," was Heidern's terse reply, and that was all he said.

* * *

"Thank you." Kain stood atop the submarine's conning tower, watching the waves lap against the hull as they pulled in closely to the jetty. "As promised... here's your pay." He placed the briefcase in the hands of the first mate, and then leapt in a graceful arc onto the wooden planks that made up the ramshackle landing platform. Without looking back, he began to walk away...

"Just one moment."

He stopped in his tracks, turning to look at the woman who hailed him, and Jenet caught a glimpse of that odiously triumphant smile...

In a grand moment of rashness, she impetuously snatched the briefcase out of the hands of her horrified first mate and tossed it over the railing. It fell at Kain's feet and burst open, the banknotes spilling across the wet wood in a wave of brilliant green. "You can keep your filthy money."

He looked up, dumbfounded, at Jenet's smirk – and on cue, the first soldiers began to burst through the undergrowth, levelling their rifles at the surprised leader-in-exile as a man. "Freeze!"

Kain whirled around, itching to strike at the traitorous pirate, but she was well out of range – and his every move was being covered by the mercenaries' weapons. For the first time, she witnessed the cracking of the calm mask that had shielded Kain's thoughts from the world: his face was sickeningly twisted into an expression of utter disgust as he watched his elaborate plan finally unravel at the end.

"They paid better anyway. Mr. Anderson... let's go."

* * *

The submarine was sailing away at full speed, Kain's solitary figure diminishing to a dot on the horizon. "God save the Queen," Jenet sneered.

Her first mate was in a more subdued mood. "You didn't have to do that with the money, Miss Jenet..."

"I know... but it was worth it to see that look on his face." She merely flicked her hair in a practiced show of nonchalance – but inwardly, though, her heart was breaking with every thought of the fortune that had been cast away. _The things I do for the sake of appearances..._

They began their descent down the hatch as the submarine began to sink beneath the waves. Almost as an afterthought, she added, "Mr. Anderson..."

"Yes?"

"We still have the bounty for Kain's capture: distribute it evenly among the crew. There's no need to save up for our New Year's drinking binge."

The first mate raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah." She winked at him, climbing into the captain's seat. "We've got places at the Illusion."

* * *

"I repeat: surrender now, or we'll shoot!"

So this was how it ended. He, once the king of Second Southtown, stabbed in the back by a fellow criminal – it was fitting, considering what he had done. To betray, and then be betrayed in turn... Was this poetic justice? Did some greater power, perhaps, frown on what he had done and punished him for it?

It didn't matter: he had carried out his plans to completion. And now that his last duty had been discharged, there was only one road left for him to travel down.

_So this is it, ladies and gentlemen. One last show..._

It was a calmly defiant figure that turned back slowly to face the squad of mercenaries, his hands resting lazily behind his back.

"Put those hands where I can see them, buster," ordered their leader, waving the barrel of his gun in emphasis of his order.

"Very well..."

Shielded from their line of sight, a purple spark sprang to life – and Kain showed his hands.

* * *

_They tell me the reconstruction of the city's going well, even if the scars of my uncle's folly are still visible across the island. Terry tells me that I'm fortunate, not having to see the aftermath of it all... but frankly, I've seen enough. He also told me that my uncle was "brought to justice" some time ago. A cryptic phrase, and vague – but he won't say any more. I guess I'll have to be satisfied with that and wonder at its meaning, but I don't doubt that he received his just deserts._

_It's better not to dwell on such tragic matters. After all, it's April Fool's Day._

_King's infant was just delivered last month, and she personally returned to the city to supervise the bar's opening. So the Illusion will open to the public on the second day of April; the night before has been reserved for a private opening party, invitation only._

_We're packed to the rafters tonight – I can tell, because I can barely hear myself speak. Contributing to most of the noise would be the Lilien Knights, who are apparently enjoying their belated drinks on the house: if I listen carefully, I can hear Sally scolding __Elizabeth__ over the validity of her 'free drink' offer as they weave through the crowd._

_I pass through the throng, hearing the voices of various men and women. I'm able to identify some of them as friends of Terry or Mary, and others from various tournaments I've participated in over the past years: I'm pretty sure the two guys quarrelling in one corner of the bar are Marco and the Griffon Mask, who is hopefully unmasked tonight. Mr. Kim and his wife are around, as are Jae Hoon and Jun – and they're all looking for Dong Hwan. Judging from the sounds coming from that back room, though, I'd better not intrude into his make-out session with Bonne Jenet._

_Others I don't recognise, but the boss assures me that all of them are honest people, and fighters of renown to boot. There's definitely some J-Pop being played in one of the karaoke lounges: I hear a famous singer's on the premises, but I can't confirm it. Whatever the case, it's a veritable United Nations in the bar tonight – you can hear all sorts of languages and accents being tossed around like nobody's business. It's a little too loud for me: I make my way to one corner of the room, ascend up two flights of stairs, open the door, and reach the roof._

_The night's incredibly quiet compared to the cacophony of the bar. I prefer it this way: it's better to be alone sometimes, to gather your thoughts..._

_...and here I was thinking I'd got rid of that mentality by now._

_I decide to remove the sunglasses. They only get in the way, and besides, they look ridiculous at night. It'll be a full half-year more before I can regain my eyesight fully – at the moment, I can only make out light and shadow. But I'm used to it by now. I can make it around my flat without assistance, and performing regular daily activities isn't a problem... except that I can't cook anymore. Unsurprisingly, though, Hotaru's quite a good chef herself. She's my primary caregiver, and has been for the last half-year or so – and I can't even begin to describe how well she's been taking care of me since our release._

_I owe her too much. If she ever decided to call in accounts, it's unlikely that I'd be able to repay her, even if I spent the rest of my life trying._

_She's downstairs at the moment. The last I heard, she was talking to some of our visitors from __Japan__, catching up on current affairs in her homeland. She seems more talkative these days, and it's good to see that she's put the sad affair of her family behind her._

_Wish I could say the same. The nightmares don't come that frequently anymore, but there's always this nagging feeling that everything's going to come crashing down around my ears, that she'll go away one day and leave me to slip back into madness. Of course I get that feeling about everyone sometimes, but it's always worse when I think about her – it's as though I'm positively terrified of that possibility..._

_"So, you're Rock Howard."_

_I turn around to face the voice from the roof exit. It's deep and gruff, and the mental image I'm getting is that of an elderly man with a beard and a big nose – but my prejudices tend to take over at this point. "And you are...?"_

_"Never mind who I am," he replies cryptically. "It's just that your friends are wondering why you aren't joining the party."_

_"It's too noisy." I'm in no mood to celebrate, but I haven't the heart to tell him that._

_I hear footsteps, getting closer: he's next to me before I know it, and we're both leaning on the parapet, his elbow next to mine. "Wanna hear a story?"_

_Might as well humour the old man.__ "Shoot."_

_"Okay. Back in the old days of Southtown, there lived an immigrant from __Japan__ and his two children – his wife had passed away in childbirth. They led simple lives: he ran a karate dojo, and with the assistance of some family friends, they managed to make ends meet. But one day, things started going wrong."_

_His voice grows quiet as the tale takes a tragic turn. "Anyway, this man decided to clean up the town once and for all by settling things with the head honcho of Southtown at the time... who will be left unnamed. But the bad guys made him an offer: join us or die. Naturally, he was perfectly capable of taking them all on, being the master of his school, but he didn't count on one thing – they'd kidnapped his daughter. So really, he had no choice."_

_I get the feeling I've heard this story before, but I let it slide._

_"And they cruelly used her as the lever to make him commit all sorts of crimes, with him knowing full well that if he dared to go against them, she'd die. Within the space of one week, he'd thrown all Southtown into chaos, creating the perfect scenario for the gangs to take control. And all this while, he hid behind the mask that they'd used to conceal his face – and he never dared to take it off, so ashamed was he of what he was doing."_

_He breathes heavily, coughing a little. "And one day, his son popped up with a friend of his, and the two young ones went in search of their missing sister. They practically turned Southtown upside down to find her... so when the son finally makes it to their base, the bad guys decided to play their trump card. They send out the one guy who could beat them at their own game – the teacher." There is a sigh. "It's a huge, huge fight – one to remember, certainly, and one where the master's caught in a trap. If he wins, his son dies. If he loses, his daughter dies. Either way, he loses – until the girl runs out and tells them to stop the fight. Then she yanks the mask off, and – horror of horrors – it's their father beneath the mask."_

_It's quite possible, actually, that the guy could be reminiscing..._

_He continues, "The father, naturally, was ashamed beyond belief; could anyone have imagined that the respectable leader of a karate school was the same man who had terrorised the town for seven whole days? A century ago, he would have gutted himself like a fish to clear the family name."_

_I wonder irreverently if it's even possible for fish to gut themselves, but keep my mouth shut. I want to hear the end of the story..._

_"The kids forgave him. But the funny thing is, the moron kept wearing the mask for quite a few years after, mostly when facing off against his children. Nobody knows why. Some people think it gave him, you know, a feeling of power – that without the mask, he'd return to his mundane state and be nothing more than a second-rate fighter. That's rubbish," he can't help but add. "His kids like to think that he's just going senile, and that the mask is just another milestone down the road to the funhouse. Or maybe, just maybe... he didn't dare to face them, knowing how he'd wronged them. Maybe it took him a while to realise that they'd already put the matter behind them."_

_He falls silent, and the two of us are left standing there in the dark._

_"And?"_

_"Whaddaya mean, 'and'?" he asks irascibly. "That's it!"_

_"No, I mean, what's the moral of the story? You didn't come up here just to find an audience for your longwinded tale," I counter, a little too scathingly for my own good._

_He doesn't take offence, fortunately. "Oh, yeah. The moral. Anyway, what I was trying to say is that people aren't as unforgiving as you think. Most of the time, the person who still won't forgive you... is yourself. Gotta learn how to fix that." He pats me on the shoulder. "That's it, I'm going back down. The night is still young, and there's much to be done..."_

_"It's okay," I reply. "I need some time to think about that."_

_He walks away, leaving the door to slam shut on me._

_He's got a point there. Maybe I'm regarding my friends a little too cynically; maybe I'm the one who needs to get over myself. Am I really that shallow? Is it even possible that they – the ones who have done so much for me over this trying period – can do such things and still remain incapable of forgiveness?_

_Obviously not.__ Therefore, as always, I'm the idiot._

_The door opens again, and I hear Hotaru's sweet voice: "Rock, they're looking for you." Footsteps approach, and her hand lights on my arm. "Come on, it's not healthy for you to stay up here and mope around."_

_As always, she's right. I let her lead me back down. After all, I haven't celebrated honestly for quite a while... and I have all the reasons to do so right here._

* * *

Notes:

(Hey, I finished it before the end of June. Whaddaya know.)

Well, ladies and gentlemen... that's it. Fin. "Blood" has come to a close. And with it, apparently, so does my brief career of writing anything longer than a one-shot. Life and time constraints permit nothing more.

It's got a typical fairytale ending, but I never intended anything other than that. And the plot twists, or lack thereof... Well, that's what I get for coming up with the ending before the content of the story. I'm serious: don't they always tell you to "begin with the end in mind"? (Bleah.) Anyway, I'm no good at plots.

Speaking of which, if you all find any areas that need to be amended, do tell me. I still make corrections from time to time.

"Blood" has been a pretty taxing experience, I must admit. From trying to make it remotely coherent and believable, to finding the right words for each scene... it's hard, but when you actually get the whole story sorted out, it's strangely gratifying. (Peachrocks: Now you know why I've been whining about it all the time. ;P)

But more importantly, it's been fun. I'll admit that I was quite discouraged at one point, when I thought nobody was reading... but fortunately for all of us, the moment passed. Hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have, because I've been greatly encouraged by all your positive reviews. (Yeah, I write partly for the ego boost too. I'm shameless.) Thanks for reading!

(Who knows? I might even write up a blooper reel one of these days. Then you'll see me at my worst...)


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